


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by WillowBlueJay17



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm here spreading the older osamu agenda and the stress baker atsumu agenda, Minor Original Character(s), Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, also spreading the msby quartet are good chaotic friends agenda, but atsuhina also has a sizable role in this fic, did I tag character death AND humor? yes I did, the character death in question occurs pre-fic in an alternate future (makes sense in context), the miya twins relationship is the primary focus here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowBlueJay17/pseuds/WillowBlueJay17
Summary: Osamu, who has never known life without his brother, mysteriously swaps places with another Osamu, who has to face such a future as his reality. CHAPTER 3 IS HERE!
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 33
Kudos: 110





	1. One April Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! It's been a while yet again, huh? I have so many fic ideas and several fics to continue but time and motivation wax and wane. Life's been a bit of a roller coaster on my end too. But, for the first time in a while, I have time and motivation in spades so I managed to get a fic out. And this time around, it's for Haikyuu! I've actually been into Haikyuu for several years but after my second favorite match in the manga, Inarizaki vs Karasuno, finally got animated I got the idea to write something (by the way please check out the manga version of the match I believe the manga does a much better job with it, although the anime did an overall great job, especially with music and voice acting. Mamoru Miyano for Atsumu, what a choice!) This fic won't be that long, maybe three or four chapters, maybe five. Part of it depends on how I handle the last part of the fic, if I make it part of one big chapter or separate it into a shorter, separate chapter.
> 
> But yeah, the Miya twins. You guys know I am a sucker for sibling relationships, so of course I clicked with them. Atsumu and Osamu are my second and third faves (Hinata still my number one). While Karasuno is still my favorite team, Inarizaki is a VERY close second. And like I said, Inarizaki vs Karasuno is my second favorite match. I hope I do everything justice with this fic. I didn't plan on writing Atsumu/Hinata for this fic, especially since even though I enjoy romance you may have noticed I rarely write it. But these two clicked and I think they're very cute and their relationship adds an extra something for this fic, so I hope you enjoy that too! Anyways, let's get on with the show!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu or any of its characters.

The tables and counter were all cleaned up, floor mopped, dishes washed, supplies put away neatly, trash thrown out, money counted, and his fellow employees had gone home for the night. Osamu was all set to close up Onigiri Miya and head home himself. 

But he didn’t mind staying just a little longer, if only to keep taking photos and videos of the scene occurring before him. A scene starring his clearly drunk twin and said twin’s admirably patient boyfriend.

“Atsumu-san, c’mon!” Hinata attempted to sound cross but the effect was dampened by the laugh the younger man was trying and failing to suppress, “You’ve known for so long that I’m joining Asas São Paulo next season. You encouraged me to accept!”

Atsumu, cheeks bright red from alcohol, only grumbled in reply as he rested his chin on the counter. Hinata let out a huff as he reached over from his stool to poke at Atsumu’s cheek, earning a small sniffle in response.

“Aww, Atsumu-san, no more tears,” Hinata looked seconds away from laughing, “You know I’m weak to your-”

Osamu shot out a hand and covered Hinata’s mouth before he finished that statement. Atsumu, by the blessing of fate, had gone his whole life without realizing how powerful a weapon his tears were. Osamu was not about to let him figure it out now.

“Sorry,” Hinata apologized after Osamu removed his hand before turning his attention back to Atsumu, “Atsumu-san, I’m not leaving until June, remember? That’s still well over a month away!”

“I know,” Atsumu said in a whiny tone, sniffling a couple more times. Osamu made sure to zoom in on his brother’s face with his phone’s camera as Atsumu’s eyes watered, “You’ll fly so high in Brazil…Everyone will love ya cause you’re hot and cool and shit.”

“Aww, thanks!” Hinata continued to poke at Atsumu’s cheek.

“All the other hot people will notice ya too,” Atsumu’s brow furrowed and a couple of tears slipped down his cheeks, “A-and you’ll notice them. And I’ll be too far away to tell them to back off.”

“I can tell them to back off myself.”

“But…But what if you find someone hotter than _me_?”

“ _Atsumu-san_!” Hinata laughed despite how miserable Atsumu sounded, but the laugh was filled with so much warmth and affection that Osamu almost groaned over the sheer sappiness of it all, “Atsumu-san, look at me? Please?”

It took a moment but Atsumu managed to sit up and turn on his stool to face Hinata without tumbling off. Osamu almost applauded him for it, but he had to focus. He had to record every moment of this.

Hinata reached over with both hands and held Atsumu’s face, squishing his cheeks a couple times as Atsumu’s lower lip continued to wobble and a few more tears streaked down his face. Osamu hated to think it, but it was almost adorably pathetic. This was why Atsumu could never learn of the power of his tears.

“Whether it’s here in Japan, in Brazil, or anywhere else in this whole world, no matter how hot a person is I won’t look at them the way I look at you,” Hinata said, thumbs brushing away some tears on Atsumu’s face, “I told you, I love you the best, just as you are. I’m yours and you’re mine, remember?”

Atsumu blinked a couple times, his tears finally drying up. Hinata squished Atsumu’s cheeks once more, planting a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before the switch was flipped.

“I love ya the best too!” Atsumu giggled as he hopped off the stool and wrapped his arms around Hinata, burying his face in the younger man’s orange hair, “You’re my number one, Shouyou-kun!”

“Glad to hear it,” Hinata chuckled as Atsumu pressed a dozen kisses to the top of his head and his temple. Hinata’s eyes twinkled as he glanced over at Osamu’s phone, “Osamu-san, could you…?”

“I’ll be sure to send you a copy,” Osamu replied with a grin as he made sure all the videos and photos he took were properly saved into his ever growing “Drunk Sumu” folder.

Once he properly sobered up the next day Atsumu would no doubt be pissed at himself for letting Osamu gather so much potential blackmail material yet again. Oh well, it wasn’t like Atsumu didn’t have a sizable collection in his own phone of Osamu’s drunken escapades over the years. Including some pictures from the twins’ disastrous 22nd birthday which Osamu would rather die than let see the light of day. 

“Alright, lovebirds, it’s gettin’ late,” Osamu headed to the front of the store, “I need to close up.”

“Thanks for letting us stay so late, Osamu-san,” Hinata struggled towards the door with Atsumu’s arms still locked around his neck, “Atsumu-san, c’mon…”

“Sumu, you’re gonna crush the poor guy,” Osamu chuckled, deciding to save poor Hinata’s dignity by not recording the scene.

“Wanna hold him though,” Atsumu mumbled as he released Hinata and the three of them exited the store, Osamu locking up behind them, “Ah, Samu.”

“Yeah?”

“…Samu.”

“…Yeah?” Osamu repeated as he quickly got his phone out and hit record, his “embarrass Sumu” senses tingling.

“…Samu…” Atsumu stood beside him and clutched his sleeve. It brought back memories of when the twins were little and Atsumu, both a crybaby and a scaredy cat back then, would constantly cling to Osamu, “We don’t hang out much anymore.”

“Can’t help it, we’re both busy people.”

“Let’s do it,” Atsumu’s head plopped onto Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu and Hinata both shared a look, Hinata shaking from the effort needed to hold back his laughter, “We can…we can hang out. Have a good time. Together.”

“Sounds great, Sumu,” Osamu did a great job keeping his face neutral and keeping the phone’s camera perfectly angled to capture the newest addition to the “Drunk Sumu” folder, even as Atsumu kept reaching up and patting Osamu’s face with the hand not clinging to his sleeve, “How’s tomorrow sound?”

“Tomorrow,” Atsumu’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, “Sunday…”

“Yeah, we’ll go into the city in Higashiosaka. Try some museums, go to the observation deck, maybe check out a shrine or two. Make a day of it, you and me.”

Osamu decided to leave out that their trip to the city was something they’d already planned a couple weeks ago, Atsumu actually taking a day off from practice even with the Black Jackals’ final match of the season coming up soon, and Onigiri Miya being closed on Sundays anyway. He _really_ wanted his brother to feel the embarrassment in the morning. 

“Tell ya what, I’ll even come to Ohasuhigashi and pick ya up!”

“Huh…?” Atsumu leaned back and tilted his head, “How come?”

Because it’s what they’d agreed upon since Atsumu whined how he was always the one going out of his way to see Osamu, as though they lived on opposite sides of the country instead of less than an hour apart. Because it’d be stupid for Atsumu to come to the Chuo Ward from Ohasuhigashi only for both of them to travel back to Higashiosaka anyways. 

“Cause I’m the older brother, it’s my duty to make my baby brother’s life a little easier.”

Instead of picking up on the blatant mocking tone Osamu used and telling him to go fuck himself, that it was only by eight minutes and being older meant nothing to twins, Atsumu simply nodded as if Osamu had answered one of life’s great questions. Honestly, bless this drunk idiot.

“ _Okay_!” Osamu’s ear rang at Atsumu’s sudden shout and he immediately took back the aforementioned blessing for this drunk idiot. Before he could smack his brother, Atsumu started squeezing him in a hug, nuzzling their cheeks together, “I love ya, Samu!”

“Gross,” Osamu groaned as he shoved Atsumu’s face away, Hinata finally letting out the laughter he’d been holding back, “Go back to clingin’ to yer man, Sumu.”

At the reminder that Hinata was standing nearby, Atsumu easily let go of Osamu and ran back to his boyfriend’s side. Hinata dodged Atsumu’s latest hug attempt, grabbing one of Atsumu’s hands in his own. While Atsumu pouted at first, he seemed to grow okay with the substitute for a proper hug, practically hopping in place with a dopey smile on his face as he squeezed Hinata’s hand tightly in his own.

“Sorry again for taking up your time, Osamu-san,” Hinata said, “You’ll be okay getting home by yourself?”

“Hey, I’m a big boy, I’m fine alone,” Osamu answered before stepping close to his brother, “Sumu, give me your phone for a sec.”

Atsumu did so without hesitation, the poor bastard. Osamu smirked as he set up a little surprise for “suffering from a hangover” Atsumu to deal with in the morning before returning the phone.

“Alright, get home safe, you two,” Osamu told them as the pair headed towards the nearest train station.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get Atsumu-san back safe!” Hinata called back, Atsumu looking over his shoulder and waving goodbye with his free hand.

Osamu watched the couple walk away for a moment longer before turning around and heading off in the direction of home. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. A little past one, definitely later than he usually closed. The last buses of the night had probably left by that point. 

Oh well, it was a cool mid-April night in Osaka’s Chuo Ward. And while it had been years since Osamu played volleyball he was still in shape from work and the occasional workout at the local gym, he could walk the distance back to his apartment and probably get there by two. He didn’t have work in the morning, so no worries about not getting enough sleep. 

But Osamu had to admit, there was something about the path back home that was kinda eerie. The part of the Chuo Ward he established Onigiri Miya in may not be the busiest but there was usually a steady stream of locals and tourists. But maybe there wasn’t as much of a nightlife in the area as there was in others, there was barely anyone around. 

Clear skies, a gentle breeze, the chirps of crickets. Dark and narrow alleys just off of the brightly lit main streets, the occasional flickering lights, a couple of young fools who were much bolder in the dark of night than they were in broad daylight surrounded by crowds. 

He checked his phone again…Getting closer and closer to two. He couldn’t help but remember those old tales his grandmother had told him and Atsumu to scare them into behaving when they were kids.

Osamu was never the superstitious type, and maybe it was just because it was the first time he’d taken this route so late, but it felt like anything could happen.

Anything at all.

~~~~~~~~

This was what Atsumu remembered about the day before.

It had been a productive day at practice. He had gotten closer to perfecting his hybrid serve with help from Inunaki. He had practiced receiving Bokuto’s superhuman spikes until he felt his arms would fall off. He helped Hinata improve on his setting, making him even more reliable in a pinch. And he and Sakusa had managed to go the whole practice without getting on each other’s nerves. Really, what a day!

And then Hinata had gotten that phone call. And Atsumu had gotten a swift reminder of what was coming.

It was a simple reminder about forms Hinata had to fill. After all, the Jackals’ upcoming match was not only going to be their last for the season, it was to be Hinata’s last with the Jackals. Come autumn Hinata would be back in Brazil, playing for Asas São Paulo. Hinata would be on a whole other continent, playing for a different team, spiking for another setter…

When Hinata had first told him of the offer from Brazil, Atsumu hadn’t been surprised it had come, hadn’t been surprised Hinata was considering it. He had been surprised no one had noticed him sooner.

It had been inevitable. Hinata loved volleyball so much, always sought to fly higher and higher. That love, that drive, had been what caught Atsumu’s attention after that fateful showdown when Atsumu was a second year at Inarizaki. It was simple admiration at first, for the boy who would always hunger for any toss sent his way, a hunger matched by Atsumu doing whatever he must to make every set worth it. 

He wanted to set for Hinata Shouyou. 

The admiration very quickly turned into puppy love, probably as early as the bus ride home to Amagasaki when Atsumu, admittedly, wouldn’t stop talking about Karasuno’s springy number ten. In hindsight he must have been pretty bad considering Osamu called their mother to make her yell at him to shut up.

Thoughts of Hinata Shouyou, of a promise he so desperately wanted to fulfil, of an unshakable ambition to be the best and play with the best, fueled Atsumu through everything that came after. Osamu admitting he was quitting after high school, the third years’ graduation, Atsumu becoming captain and whipping the newcomers into shape. That destined rematch when the foxes got their revenge on the crows, when Atsumu reminded Hinata of what was coming. 

And maybe somewhere along the way that puppy love became a little more serious.

But Hinata had left the country after graduation. And Atsumu, new to the professional volleyball scene, didn’t have the time to wonder or wait. He needed to grow, he needed to be better. He couldn’t focus on the past if he wanted to make his mark on the professional stage.

Who needs memories?

And if the memory of that boy with orange hair who got away filled him with a little regret, he could deal with that another day. 

But then Hinata had come back to Japan the year before, had tried out for the Jackals and easily earned a spot. Had actually addressed him by the right name this time around. 

It was easy for them to connect, as setter and spiker. It was easy for friendship to bloom from hours and hours of practice. It was easy for that puppy love to return with a vengeance, to evolve into a sincere and aching love that was so easy to feel for the man with a bright smile that rivalled the sun and a burning love for volleyball that matched Atsumu’s own.

That day one month before Hinata’s debut match, when they finally spoke of those feelings and turned them into something real, was forever engraved in Atsumu’s memory.

In all the months to follow, Atsumu couldn’t believe all the emotions he was capable of. He had always assumed volleyball would be his one and only love. But every new day with Hinata, every new experience, made him realize how much he wanted. He wanted the whole cheesy domestic picture: a nice house filled with plants, a kid or two, being together until they were old and gray and their joints ached, all that romantic shit. 

They were in love. 

They were volleyball players. 

He always figured Hinata would leave someday. Didn’t expect it to be so soon but it was bound to happen. The world was vast, filled with an ever-growing number of volleyball players. And Atsumu had long learned the harsh truth that there were plenty who were better than him, that he was but a drop in an ocean. There were more than enough setters out there who could pull more out of Hinata than Atsumu was capable of. Even with all the blood, sweat, and tears he put into the sport there would be others who took it even further. Hinata would find them, would search them out all over the world, and take everything they could give him. 

And, of course, such thoughts twisted themselves to wrap around their relationship. There would always be better setters. There would certainly be better people. Volleyball was vast. The world was vast. Anything could happen.

Anything at all. 

How quickly his mood had soured, after such a great day. But he was proud of Hinata and sincerely supported his goals, so he kept his mouth firmly shut. Hinata didn’t need to deal with Atsumu’s petty issues.

But of course Hinata had noticed _something_ was up, probably even figured out exactly what Atsumu was thinking, and knew him well enough to not ask about it. Instead they headed over to Onigiri Miya after the dinner rush, when the restaurant would certainly be empty. Atsumu didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about being in the restaurant, being with Osamu, that helped settle his thoughts, even if he couldn’t figure out any answers.

But then, dumbass that he was, he decided to drink to avoid his problems. And drink. And _drink_.

He remembered his tears, his pouting. His stupid clinginess. The way he hung off Hinata. The way he clung onto _Osamu_! And the bastard had recorded it all!

Now here he was, lying in bed after Hinata had kindly dropped him off before heading back to his own apartment, head pounding, with his phone blaring out an obnoxious alarm at six in the morning that he didn’t recall setting. Atsumu groaned as he grabbed his phone, eyes zeroing in on the text connected to the alarm that was splitting his head open.

_Hope you appreciate the wakeup call dumb shit_

“Fuck off, Samu,” Atsumu groaned, shutting off the alarm and tossing the phone somewhere on his bed.

An agenda had to be made. Step one: get Osamu drunk and increase Atsumu’s “Drunk Samu” collection. Step two: kill him. Step three: enjoy the rest of his life as an only child.

As Atsumu sat up and the headache persisted, he revised his agenda. New step one: deal with hangover. 

~~~~~~~~

Atsumu looked at the date on his phone. April 14th. He checked the news. April 14th. He double checked his memory of when he and his brother arranged this little trip of theirs. Yup, Osamu had definitely said April 14th. 

So, it was the day of their outing and Osamu was a whole hour late. No calls, no texts, nothing. Atsumu looked over the texts he had sent Osamu half an hour ago.

_Where are u?_

_????_

_Traffic??? U sleeping???_

_SAMU!!!!!_

_O!!!!_

_SA!!!!_

_MU!!!_

Nope, every one of them was still unread. So not only did Osamu get plenty of blackmail material last night and made his headache worse with a way too early alarm, he was late to an outing _he_ planned with no messages.

Atsumu considered forgoing the revenge part of his agenda and proceeding straight to killing his twin. Instead, like a good brother, Atsumu gave him the benefit of the doubt and waited a little while longer. Once Osamu showed up he could yell at him plenty.

Except another thirty minutes of nothing happened. All Atsumu got out of it was a breaking local news report about some random drunk driver injuring a couple people after running a red light. When they showed the intersection where the accident occurred, Atsumu could only think about how he and Osamu was supposed to be there by now. Well, not necessarily right _there_ at that intersection but there in the city, finally getting a chance to properly hang out after three months of conflicting schedules only left them with the occasional late night Onigiri Miya meetup. 

His texts were still unread. Fuck it, Atsumu would have to be the reliable one this time and oh man was he gonna hold this over his twin’s head for a good week at minimum. He called Osamu’s cellphone. 

“Hello?” came the gravelly tone on the other end of the line.

So the ass actually slept in. And people always said Osamu was the more responsible one.

“Did ya forget?” Atsumu asked, trying to keep the grumbling to a minimum. That could wait for when Osamu finally showed up and Atsumu could enjoy seeing the stupid expressions he’d make in person, “April 14th? Ring any bells?”

The silence on the other end lasted long enough that Atsumu wondered if they lost connection.

“ _Go fuck yourself._ ”

Atsumu didn’t have time to properly register the venom lacing those words before Osamu hung up. Atsumu’s mouth opened and shut once, twice, before he immediately went to his messages and started typing.

_?????????????????????_

_BITCH??????_

_YOU go fuck YOURSELF!!!!_

Atsumu was in the middle of typing a particularly messy rant of a text when he suddenly got notified that he was blocked. Osamu blocked him. He _blocked_ him.

To recap: Osamu watched Atsumu get drunk and took a bunch of videos and photos of his dumb ass, put an annoyingly loud alarm on his phone that would of course be terrible for his hangover, apparently forgot the trip that he planned weeks ago and then reminded Atsumu of the night before, and after Atsumu went to the trouble of calling him after wondering where the hell he was, the asshole told him to fuck himself and blocked him.

What. The. Fuck.

~~~~~~~~

“Huh…That really doesn’t sound like Osamu-san.”

Since the trip was a bust and Atsumu was too pissed off to storm over to Osamu’s apartment and confront him, he decided instead to get some use out of his day and practice volleyball with his team. Of course when he arrived at the gym it was to a chorus of his teammates joking about how Atsumu was incapable of taking a day off after all, that they’d even started a betting pool over when he’d show up at the gym that day because they had that little faith in him taking it easy. 

He still remembered how when he requested the day off to Coach Foster weeks ago said coach asked him if he was ill, actually sitting him down and giving a whole spiel about how Atsumu could talk to him about anything and all that crap. Atsumu still wasn’t entirely sure whether the man had been kidding or not.

But he was not _that_ much of a workaholic, thank you very much!

At least his day could be somewhat improved by being with Hinata, the setter wrapping his arms around the spiker’s body and resting his chin atop fluffy orange hair while Hinata’s own hands pat Atsumu’s back. Plus, Hinata was an excellent person to vent to.

“What do ya mean?” Atsumu complained, “Guy’s an inconsiderate jerk plenty of times!”

“Osamu-san’s not _that_ mean,” Hinata chuckled against Atsumu’s chest.

“Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu let go of Hinata, stepping back to hold the spiker’s face, staring at him seriously, “I need you to look at him with yer own two human eyes. Man’s no saint, never has been.”

“I know that, I’m just saying he doesn’t seem like the type to cancel with no warning!” Hinata’s brow furrowed for a moment, “Maybe he’s sick? It was kinda cold last night and I don’t think there were any buses running that late.”

“And what, he can’t open his mouth and tell me that?” Atsumu went back to holding Hinata close to him to combat the flare of annoyance coursing through him, “Nah, he’s just being a dick, no doubt.”

Atsumu smiled a little as he planted a kiss atop Hinata’s head.

“Well, at least that means I get to spend more time seein’ yer face instead of his ugly mug.”

“Atsumu-san, you’re twins.”

“But I’m _much_ better lookin’, right?” Atsumu’s voice took on a teasing tone as he leaned back to look at Hinata’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, the most handsome man in the world,” Hinata replied, a smile on his face despite the roll of his eyes accompanying the remark.

“You two.”

Atsumu and Hinata turned their heads in the direction of the irritated voice to see Sakusa seated on the floor of the gym, glaring up at the couple standing in front of him.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose,” Sakusa said, eyes narrowing at the pair.

“What do you mean, Omi-san?” Hinata asked, face of purely innocent confusion.

“Don’t give me that! You guys always wait until I sit somewhere and then you decide to stand right in front of me and do your lovey-dovey crap.”

“Why, Omi-kun, it sounds like you’re accusing us of something!” Atsumu sounded perfectly scandalized as he held Hinata closer, “Shouyou-kun, what’s he talkin’ about?”

“I have no idea, Atsumu-san!”

“I should’ve just gone to Kodaira,” Sakusa growled, “No way Wakatoshi-kun has to deal with shit like this.”

They knew what Sakusa was complaining about. They both knew very well. It couldn’t be helped, Sakusa was so much fun to tease, giant grump that he was. 

“Screw you guys, I’m getting Meian-san,” Sakusa made a move to stand.

Atsumu and Hinata both jumped apart at the threat. As fun as teasing Sakusa was, no one wanted to deal with an annoyed Meian. 

“TSUM-TSUM!!!”

Atsumu barely had time to brace himself before a hand whacked his back with such power that if Hinata hadn’t grabbed him he no doubt would’ve crashed to the ground. _Hard_. Atsumu closed his eyes and counted to five before turning to face a beaming Bokuto.

“Hey, Tsum-Tsum, wanna practice spiking with-?” Bokuto’s question cut off as Atsumu plopped his hands on the spiker’s shoulders, a thin smile on his face.

“Bokkun, what’d I say about hittin’ me like that?”

“…Don’t hit you too hard?”

“ _Don’t hit me at all!_ ”

Bokuto laughed, rubbing the back of his head and somehow looking both apologetic and not at the same time. 

“Oh, Bokuto-san!” Hinata said, “Listen, does Osamu-san seem like the kind of guy who’d cancel a meeting last minute and then go no contact?”

“Myaa-sam?” Bokuto crossed his arms and tilted his head, “Not really. The guy’s pretty nice, you know.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe none of ya see how much of a demon he is!” Atsumu complained.

“Well, Myaa-sam can definitely be kinda scary!” Bokuto let out a booming laugh, “Right, Hinata? Remember that get together we had at Onigiri Miya, when you and Tsum-Tsum first started dating, and he-?”

“Threatened him within an inch of his life while Miya was in the bathroom?” Sakusa finished, Atsumu almost considering praising him for participating in the conversation if he weren’t confused by what they were saying.

“What? _Threatened_?” Atsumu turned to Hinata, eyes blazing, “What’d that asshole say to ya? I’ll deck him!”

“No, no, no!” Hinata raised his hands, “It was nothing bad, I swear! Osamu-san just cares a lot about your happiness, Atsumu-san, and I promised I’d do right by you.”

“Okay, now I know you guys are shitting me.”

“It’s true!” Bokuto insisted, “Myaa-sam loves you a lot Tsum-Tsum!”

“Alright, that enough from all ya,” Atsumu put a hand to his face to hide the flush of his cheeks. He had to change the conversation quick, no more of this sappy bullshit, “Bokkun, I left a tray of brownies in the break room, did you see them?”

“You brought _brownies_ and didn’t tell me?” Bokuto’s shout echoed in the gym. He turned and sprinted in the direction of the break room, “If they’re all gone, I’ll be super mad, Tsum-Tsum!”

“Off to grab a brownie too, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asked smugly as Sakusa stood and walked off.

“I don’t need your trash brownies, I’m trying to escape you morons,” Sakusa snapped back, Atsumu deciding not to point out Sakusa was clearly heading for the break room too.

Was Coach Foster gonna kill him for bringing sweets to practice again? Ehh, probably not. Atsumu was an athlete who cared about his career, he knew how to limit his junk food intake, as did anyone else who dared call themselves professional athletes. And he did it rarely enough to begin with. Besides, he’d definitely receive more complaints if he quit bringing the occasional treats all together.

“…You’re really upset about this whole thing with Osamu-san, huh?” Hinata asked as he stepped beside Atsumu, leaning against the setter.

“Don’t know what you mean,” Atsumu muttered, draping an arm across Hinata’s shoulder.

“Atsumu-san, _everyone_ knows you stress bake.”

“Maybe I just wanted to share brownies with my teammates, did ya think of that?”

Hinata merely scoffed at that before walking off after Bokuto and Sakusa, Atsumu following close behind. 

Talking with Hinata, having a quick banter with Sakusa and Bokuto, making strides in his practice. At least the day hadn’t been a total waste. But that still left the issue of whatever was up with Osamu. Because, as much as he complained otherwise, it was true. This really wasn’t like Osamu. 

Maybe Atsumu should stop by his twin’s apartment later?

“Umm…Speaking of your brownies, Atsumu-san…”

“No, Shouyou-kun, I’m not telling ya any of my recipes.”

“Aww, c’mon, what’ll I do when I’m in Brazil? It’ll be soooooo long before I can eat them again!”

Atsumu ignored the sharp twist in his chest at the reminder of Hinata’s upcoming departure.

“Atsumu-san!!! Will you ever let me see your recipes?”

“…We’ll see.”

~~~~~~~~

Stopping by Osamu’s apartment to check on him/yell at him amounted to nothing. No matter how much Atsumu knocked, his brother wouldn’t open the door. Just when Atsumu considered using the emergency set of keys Osamu had gifted him, one of Osamu’s neighbors kindly informed Atsumu that his twin had gone out hours ago. When he asked how his brother seemed, the neighbor answered that Osamu had seemed very energetic with how quickly he ran down the stairs and out of the apartment complex.

Well, there was a strike against Hinata’s sick theory.

With his brother out doing who knows what, Atsumu’s number still blocked and his patience wearing thin, Atsumu decided this was a problem for tomorrow’s him. Today’s him was done with whatever bullshit Osamu was up to. Osamu had work the next day, so Atsumu could easily swing by Onigiri Miya after the dinner rush and confront him then. If Osamu got mouthy over him making a scene at his workplace, Atsumu could point out that _he_ started this.

And that had been the plan…until he got a call on his cellphone at half past six in the morning from a number he didn’t recognize. 

“Hello?” Atsumu answered as civilly as possible despite mentally adding this mystery person to his kill list.

“Miya Atsumu-san? This is you, right?”

“Yeah?” Atsumu replied as he slowly sat up, trying to place where he’d heard the young woman on the other end’s voice from.

“Oh, thank goodness!” the mystery lady sighed in relief, “This is Hitome, from Onigiri Miya!”

Ah, that’s right. Once Osamu’s restaurant had gotten too popular for one man to handle, he had hired three people to assist. There was Kijima, a housewife who helped out part time. Really friendly and non-threatening most of the time, but as scary as the twins’ own mother once you pissed her off. Then there was Ubara, a guy a little older than the twins. Seemed way too laidback but was surprisingly dedicated to the job. Hitome was a recent hire, only joining a week ago. A bubbly lady fresh out of college who had yet to experience the harsh realities of working society.

“Right, Hitome…Uhh, how’d you get my number?”

“Oh, you were listed in the emergency contacts Boss keeps at the store!”

There was a brief second between Atsumu enjoying the idea of teasing Osamu over having him as an emergency contact before it hit him. Osamu had him as an _emergency_ contact.

“What happened to Samu?” he asked as he scrambled out of bed, heading to the closet to grab a jacket, heart pounding in his chest.

“Oh, wait, it’s not super serious!” Hitome explained before adding hesitantly, “I mean, I don’t think it is? Umm…”

Before Atsumu could snap at the girl he hears a shuffle on the other end and then a man, Ubara, from how slow and low the tone was, started speaking. 

“What Hitome’s tryin’ to say is that Boss called in sick all of a sudden.”

“And you called me because…?” Atsumu wondered, mind racing as he wondered if maybe Hinata had been right after all.

“Well, he sounded off, for sure,” Ubara said, “When Hitome got all confused since it’s the first time Boss has ever called out, and so last minute, he yelled at her. I wasn’t standing near her and I could hear him. Made her cry even!”

Huh…

Osamu…didn’t yell.

Well, he did, Atsumu could cite plenty of times growing up that resulted in getting his ears blown out from Osamu’s yelling. But the guy never yelled at anyone who wasn’t Atsumu for no reason. He especially never yelled at his employees. The few times Atsumu had seen his twin angry at his employees, the worst Osamu had pulled off was a harsh glare or pulling them to the back for a talk.

Yelling? To the point of making someone cry? Over something as minor and rather understandable as the guy running the restaurant calling in sick less than two hours before opening? Calling out so suddenly, leaving his employees scrambling to cover for him, especially when he’d always said Mondays were one of Onigiri Miya’s busiest days? After that neighbor had told Atsumu the previous night that Osamu seemed energetic?

“That…does sound weird,” Atsumu admitted more to himself than Ubara.

Another shuffle and this time Kijima came on the line.

“Really, makin’ poor Hitome-chan cry!” Atsumu could imagine the woman shaking her head in disapproval. Her voice turned softer as she continued, “But, well, while we’re all upset about that, we’re worried more than anythin’. Ya probably know more than any of us that this doesn’t sound like him, right, Atsumu-kun?”

“…Yeah,” Atsumu realized he’d have to do his little confrontation much earlier than expected, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk with him. I’ll tell him to apologize like a proper adult when he sees you guys. Especially you, Hitome!”

“It’s alright but I appreciate it!” Hitome chuckled, “Just please make sure Boss is okay.”

“And tell him we can hold down the fort today, but he’d better come on time tomorrow!” Ubara added, “You know, unless he’s actually sick or something…”

“We leave him in yer hands, Atsumu-kun,” Kijima said warmly, “Take care!”

…It was nice to know Osamu had some good folks keeping an eye on him at work. He was so gonna make the idiot pay those poor guys extra for the trouble he put them through.

Which was why Atsumu found himself outside the door to Osamu’s apartment, yet again, pounding his fist against the door, hoping none of the neighbors would come out to complain.

“ _What?_ ”

Osamu’s muffled voice on the other side of the door was the first Atsumu had heard of the guy since before his number was blocked. 

“Don’t ‘what’ me, asshole!” Atsumu growled, “First ya give me shit when I didn’t even do anything, now you’re goin’ around yelling at your employees?”

Atsumu waited for Osamu to say something, anything. An insult, a sarcastic remark, even a scoff. But there was nothing but silence.

“Samu?” Atsumu called, reaching for the emergency keys in his pocket, “Samu, I’ve lost all patience for this, I-”

The rest of what Atsumu wanted to say was cut off as the door to the apartment swung open. And there stood his brother, Atsumu’s first time seeing the bastard since they’d parted that cool Saturday night, technically Sunday morning.

And, wow, Atsumu wanted to ask that one neighbor when they’d last gotten their eyes checked because Osamu did _not_ look okay.

Dark circles under his eyes, skin kinda pale, hair disheveled. Shit, Hinata was onto something after all.

“Ya really _were_ sick?” Atsumu sighed as he, somewhat gently, shoved his brother aside and entered the apartment, “Damn it, Samu, use yer words! You could’ve said something!”

“…Sorry.”

That…wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Osamu was supposed to fire back at Atsumu, make a complaint against him bursting in like he owned the place. Osamu wasn’t supposed to apologize so timidly.

“…Yeah, well, you’d better be!” Atsumu plopped himself onto the couch in the living room, arms crossed in front of him as he glared at his twin, still standing by the doorway.

Osamu merely nodded as he closed the apartment, not breaking eye contact with Atsumu since he’d come in. It was seriously unsettling.

“Did ya get sick on the walk home?” Atsumu asked, trying to make up for the weird silence, “Your dumb ass caught a cold and it made you all grumpy like some emo high schooler?”

Osamu wasn’t looking away. He wasn’t responding to the banter the way he was supposed to, quick, instant, the easy push and pull of words the twins had perfected growing up practically attached at the hip. He was barely responding at all.

It was almost as if Osamu was out of practice.

Atsumu frowned as he made his way over to him. It was as Atsumu got closer that Osamu finally looked away, eyes locked on the floor. Seriously, what was wrong with him?

“…You alright?” Atsumu reached out a hand to check his temperature, only for Osamu to quickly step back.

“Not sick,” Osamu mumbled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he met Atsumu’s puzzled gaze, “I…I had a nightmare.”

“A…A _nightmare_?” he repeated.

“A very long one,” Osamu’s gaze turned to the side, “Lost track of things, that’s all.”

Atsumu so badly wanted to call bullshit, but he was too busy trying not to show how freaked out he was. 

Osamu wasn’t fragile. Neither of them were. Even at their lowest moments, at their weakest, they were fierce, they were fire. They clashed and roared, against each other, against the world. When anyone thought of the Miya Twins, “fragile” should be and usually was the last word on their minds.

But this Osamu was like glass, as if the wrong word, the wrong push, would shatter him. He looked unsure of himself, unsure around Atsumu. 

What the _fuck_ happened that Saturday night?

“…You ate yet?” Atsumu asked, staring at the kitchen.

“Huh?” Osamu finally looked at him again, an eyebrow raised, “No?”

“Alright, c’mon,” Atsumu strode towards the kitchen, “We’re makin’ breakfast.”

Folks were usually surprised to learn that Atsumu could cook. Sure, he wasn’t at Osamu’s level for the most part, but he could make tasty enough meals.

Of course he could. Because Osamu could. And Atsumu wouldn’t fall behind.

They’d always shared interests and hobbies, volleyball most of all. When Osamu placed his heart in cooking, Atsumu was lost for the first time. He couldn’t follow the conversation, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what Osamu was saying.

That wouldn’t do.

His mother was just glad Atsumu was learning an important life skill when he begged her to teach him. Osamu was baffled at the development but was soon preoccupied with competing to remain better than Atsumu. 

Weeks of messy kitchens that earned him more lectures than he knew what to do with turned to months when his mother and Osamu would gladly leave him in charge of meals once in a while and turned to years when Atsumu learned that he had a knack for baking while Osamu just couldn’t get sweets no matter how much he tried.

The first time Osamu’s eyes lit up trying a batch of Atsumu’s cookies, Atsumu held back a sigh of relief. Because Osamu wasn’t out of reach…Because they could talk about this, could argue and compete, and understand. 

As Atsumu carefully stirred the broth for the miso soup and Osamu concentrated on grilling salmon in a pan, it should’ve felt normal. They’d done this often enough over the years, it was practically second nature.

But Atsumu couldn’t shake the feeling of “wrong”.

Like if all the furniture in your house was moved a couple centimeters over. Like finding a plate in your dishwasher that seems like something you’d buy but you don’t remember buying. Like buying hair dye that you’re so sure is the same color you always use, only to look in the mirror and realize it’s a shade off.

This was Osamu, his brother, his twin.

His twin who took a few seconds too long to respond to Atsumu’s insults. Didn’t even make a biting comment about the uneven way Atsumu had chopped the green onions. Who kept stepping close to Atsumu’s side, even though _he’d_ always been the one to complain about personal space, especially when cooking.

It was as if Osamu was relearning how to interact with Atsumu. Which didn’t make any sense, they’d only been apart for a little over a day. 

What happened? What the flying fuck could have possibly happened?

Atsumu kept asking himself that over and over as he and Osamu ate, some life finally returning to Osamu’s eyes.

“Been a while since I ate your cooking,” Osamu said as he tasted the miso soup.

“Has it?” Atsumu responded.

“Yeah…Almost forgotten.”

Okay, now he was being dramatic. It wasn’t _that_ long since they’d had a meal together. It looked like Osamu had realized that too, from the way his shoulders tensed and he kept his gaze firmly locked on his plate.

“That nightmare of yours really scrambled yer head?” Atsumu asked.

“…Yeah.”

“Ya know I think you’re full of it, right?”

Osamu let out a snort, Atsumu nearly thrown off by the unexpected normalcy of it.

“I guess it wasn’t my best lie,” Osamu finally admitted with a shrug.

“Well, you _are_ a shit liar. Don’t know why Mom kept believing you over me growing up.”

Atsumu leaned forward in his chair, an expectant look on his face. Osamu just stared at him for a moment before pushing his breakfast out of the way and resting his arms on the table, burying his face against them. 

“You won’t believe me,” Osamu’s voice was muffled against his arms, “Shit, _I_ still don’t believe this.”

“Look, we can discuss how crazy you are after ya tell me what the fuck’s wrong with you,” Atsumu told him.

“…You shouldn’t be here.”

Atsumu blinked a couple times in confusion.

“Why not? I didn’t see you goin’ out of yer way to talk to anyone-”

“April 13th.”

“Huh?” Atsumu was thrown by the sudden interruption, “What about it?”

“What day was it?” Osamu asked, lifting his head only to place his chin atop his arms, eyes looking glassy.

“Uhh, Saturday?” Atsumu responded, wondering where Osamu was supposed to be going with this.

“I see…When I fell asleep on April 13th, it was a Monday.”

…What?

“It was a Monday night, raining, and I fell asleep on the roof of my apartment building cause tomorrow was gonna be the 14th.”

…Again, what???

“…But April 13th was a Saturday,” was all Atsumu could respond with in a pathetically squeaky voice, his brain cells working overtime to make sense of this.

“This year, yeah, but next year it’s on a Monday,” Osamu replied as if he hadn’t been saying one batshit statement after the other.

Third time’s the charm: WHAT?????

There were so many different parts of what Osamu had said so far that needed to be pointed out and discussed ad nauseum. Atsumu sat in his chair, mouth gaping like a fish, while Osamu’s expression hadn’t changed one bit. 

What to ask. How could Osamu fall asleep on April 13th of the next year? Why did he decide to fall asleep on the roof instead of his own room? In the rain, no less? And why did he say “cause tomorrow was gonna be the 14th” as if that explained _anything_?

“…What does all that have to do with me not bein’ here?” Atsumu chose to ask instead, because that was the one question he had nothing to work with from everything Osamu said.

“Because…” 

Osamu sat up straight and smiled at him. And Atsumu’s stomach dropped, his breath caught in his throat. That smile on his brother’s face was as brittle as it was unnerving.

“…You died yesterday.”

“…Ahh… _Huh_ …?”

~~~~~~~~

This was what Osamu remembered about the day before.

He’d had another successful day at work. Seeing the bright, beaming smiles of customers biting into his onigiri and saying “delicious” really drove it home. 

His dream was real. He’d built it with his own two hands. And it was thriving right before his eyes. He could be happy outside of volleyball. He could succeed as Miya Osamu, not just as one of the Miya Twins.

During the calm after the noisy dinner rush, Hinata has popped by, dragging a pouting Atsumu behind him. And while Osamu was sure the whole “twin telepathy” thing Aran always talked about back in high school was bull, he definitely sensed something off about Atsumu.

Being a nice brother, despite Atsumu’s constant whines to the contrary, Osamu had made sure his twin and his boyfriend were filled with plenty of good food and drink and he kept the teasing to the minimum.

…Until Atsumu started crying while clinging to Hinata’s sweatshirt. All bets were off, Osamu’s phone came out, and his “Drunk Sumu” collection got a little more priceless.

After sending off the happy couple, Osamu had been stuck walking home, as the buses had stopped running that late at night. But Osamu was in great shape and it was a cool night with clear skies, so he managed to successfully make it home by two in the morning.

But perhaps he’d been more exhausted than he’d thought cause the second he changed clothes and made contact with his bed, he was out. He thought he’d seen a brief flicker of light, but the haze of sleep claimed him before he could make much sense of it all.

Yup, all of that was logical and made perfect sense, matching all his memories.

…So why the fuck did he wake up on the roof of his apartment building in the middle of the night in the rain?

You’d think having rain pour down on you on a cold April night would wake you up. But the sheer confusion the whole situation brought did nothing to fire Osamu’s synapses. He could only stare dumbly between the sky and the roof.

But maybe some part of his brain was doing its damn job after all because Osamu finally stood up and headed inside, making a mental note to research sleepwalking. He did his best to dry himself off once he reached his apartment, hoping he didn’t catch a cold from the odd misadventure. The nearby clock read half past two.

So it hadn’t even been that long since he’d gotten home? Strange…

Oh well, that was a problem for when he wasn’t exhausted. He could deal with it in the morning.

When morning, proper sun in the sky morning, finally arrived, Osamu was greeted by a series of chimes coming from his phone. He grinned, expecting a series of angry texts from Atsumu, who must have woken up to the fun little surprise Osamu left for him by that point.

Instead, not one of the texts covering his lock screen was from Atsumu. There was a couple from his mom, a bunch from some aunts and uncles and cousins he barely talked to. He saw Aran’s name in the mix, Kita’s and Suna’s as well. Akagi, Ginjima, Oomimi, Kosaku, Riseki. Coach Kurosu and Coach Oomi too. Hokkyo, Haiiro, and several other old underclassmen had texted him as well. And the list kept going and going…

What had he missed while he was asleep?

Before Osamu could take the time to read any of the texts and find out what was so special that apparently everyone he’d ever met decided to text him, he noticed the day listed on his phone.

Tuesday, April 14th.

In hindsight, Osamu would like to believe on any other day he would’ve pieced it together right there. That he’d remember that April 13th was a Saturday, so April 14th being a Tuesday made no damn sense. He wanted to believe that lingering exhaustion from the late-night walk home and his bizarre “waking up on the roof in the rain” situation were to blame for his muddled thoughts. He wanted so badly to believe that he’d remember he didn’t go on that trip he’d planned with Atsumu weeks ago. Osamu was not an idiot. He may not have been the best student in school, but he was no idiot.

That being said, his eyes zeroed in on “Tuesday” instead of focusing on “April 14th”.

And then he thought “shit, I’m late for work” instead of “why can’t I remember two days of my life?” followed by “wait, isn’t it supposed to be Sunday?”

And instead of doing the stuff Osamu was so certain he would have done on any other day, he found himself practically tripping over his own feet getting ready for work, mentally apologizing to his employees he left in the lurch every step of the way. He turned off the television he didn’t even recall turning on in the first place just as it started talking about sports news, about remembering a loss last year or something. Whatever, Osamu had no time for it.

The messages on his phone remained unread. 

Osamu managed to catch the bus before it left and sprinted the last few blocks towards Onigiri Miya, paying little mind to the people who stared after him, whispering to each other. What, had they never seen a guy running because he was late for work before?

“Oh, Osamu-kun!”

Osamu managed to stop himself just before he nearly barreled over the old woman before him. It was Yamada, a regular at Onigiri Miya who always showed up for lunch every other day.

“Ah, mornin’, Yamada-san,” Osamu greeted as he tried to step around the woman, “Would love to chat but I’m-”

“Are you working, dear?” Yamada’s gentle voice interrupted him, eyes wide as she stared at his face, “ _Today_?”

“Uhh, yeah?” Osamu couldn’t understand the confusion, “Ya know we’re open on Tuesdays.”

“Well, of course, but I thought you’d be taking the day off?”

Osamu wanted to ask why she seemed so sure he would have taken some random Tuesday off, but he remembered how close it was to opening time.

“Listen, I’m runnin’ late, Yamada-san, we can talk later!” Osamu left it at that as he continued his run, mentally tallying the bonus he was gonna give his employees for the trouble he put them through.

“Sorry, guys!” Osamu called out as he burst into the restaurant, “I don’t know why my alarm didn’t go off.”

Instead of Hitome’s cheerful “Morning, Boss!” or Ubara’s lazy “Mornin’…”, the pair of them stared at Osamu in silent confusion. Kijima was standing next to them, looking equally as perplexed by Osamu’s presence in his own restaurant.

…Kijima…wasn’t supposed to be here…

“Kijima, you lose track of the days?” Osamu asked, “Ya don’t work Tuesdays.”

“…Did _you_ lose track, Boss?” Kijima replied slowly, “Aren’t ya supposed to be off today?”

First Yamada, now Kijima. Why did they think he’d be-?

Wait.

Yesterday was the 13th. So today was the 14th. 

He was supposed to meet Atsumu in Ohasuhigashi! How had that asshole not texted or even called him by now? Since when was Osamu the one late to their get togethers? It was always Atsumu who needed a wakeup call or three to even hope to get somewhere on time. Goddamnit, his brother was gonna hold this over him for a week, at minimum.

…Except…yesterday had been a Saturday. The twins’ trip was supposed to take place on a Sunday. But today was a Tuesday.

…What?

“Boss, it’s alright,” Ubara's voice was soft and gentle, throwing Osamu off even further rather than calming him down like he probably wanted, “Ya don’t gotta push yourself. Especially today, of all days.”

…Again, what?

What did that mean, “today, of all days”? Come to think of it, Yamada seemed to emphasize that she expected him to be off _today_ specifically. 

“Don’t you worry about things here!” Hitome’s fists were clenched, a determined look on her face, “Like we told you yesterday, the three of us are more than capable of holding down the fort, Boss! Look at all the onigiri I already made!”

Hitome pointed to several trays. Each onigiri looked so perfect. Even triangular shapes, all the same size, nori perfectly cut and wrapped around each one.

“…You mean ya made it with Ubara and Kijima?” Osamu asked softly, warning bells going off in his head.

“What? No, by myself, of course!”

…Third time’s the charm: _what_???

Because Hitome had started only one week ago. Because Hitome was only starting to get the basics for forming onigiri under his direction. Because there’s no way she should already be making onigiri like a seasoned professional. 

…It was Tuesday, not Sunday. Hitome acting like an experienced worker instead of the rookie she’s supposed to be. He woke up earlier in the rain when he was certain the weatherman promised a clear night, and he’d certainly not seen a single cloud on his walk home.

As the others continued to stare at him with concern, Osamu took out his phone. He saw the wall of texts he had yet to read and ignored all of them, instead going to his calendar app.

2020\. The year at the top of the list of months very clearly said “2020”.

As his phone clattered to the ground, he immediately grabbed his cheek and twisted. Hard. Yeah, that hurt like hell. 

But the others were still standing there, looking even more worried than before. And when he picked up his phone, the calendar app still said “2020”.

What. The. Fuck.

“Boss, you’re so pale,” Kijima slowly stepped towards him.

“I’m-” Osamu swallowed, his voice coming out strangled, “I’m goin’ home.”

Without answering the confused shouts of his employees, Osamu left Onigiri Miya. His body felt like it was on autopilot the whole way to the bus stop, the whole ride back to where his apartment complex was, and every slow step to his apartment.

He had to leave all of that to autopilot, had to trust his body knew which way to go. Because his mind was too busy telling him not to throw up, not to pass out.

Keep breathing, keep breathing, _keep breathing_.

He went to sleep in 2019 and somehow woke up in 2020. That alone was too fantastical for him to follow, too bizarre to make sense of. But that wasn’t what was destroying him. In fact, the idea that he either lost memories of a whole year of his life or somehow time travelled barely meant anything to him.

Because, despite his poor showing earlier that morning, Osamu really _wasn’t_ an idiot.

The threads were all there, and he could easily connect them. But to do so would mean acknowledging a truth so terrible and unwanted. 

A volley of texts in the morning from everyone he knew and their mother. Except one very noticeable absence. 

A news report about remembering the loss of someone from the sports world the year before, a name he didn’t get to hear. 

The pity on those faces. On Hitome’s, Ubara’s, and Kijima’s. On old Yamada’s.

_“Are you working, dear? Today?”_

_“Ya don’t gotta push yourself. Especially today, of all days.”_

When Osamu closed the door to his apartment behind him, he leaned against it, sliding to the ground. One more time he took out his phone and ignored the texts. He went to the search engine instead.

…He didn’t want the pieces to come together. He didn’t want to see the obvious answer spelled out to him. But, still on autopilot, his fingers typed.

April 14th, 2019. Miya Atsumu.

Osamu let out a choked laugh as the results of his search popped up.

Of course it was the top result, why wouldn’t it be? And of course, _of course_ , Osamu didn’t need to go through the trouble of clicking the link and reading the article. The title so kindly explained everything for him, clearly and precisely.

_MSBY Black Jackals’ Star Setter, Miya Atsumu, Struck and Killed by Drunk Driver_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, what a length for a first chapter, huh? I know Osamu's parts are on the short side but that's because A) this chapter was already so long, B) I wanted to set up Atsumu's side of things first, and C) I plan for the next chapter to be focused on Osamu's half of this bizarre situation. This is definitely gonna be a fun fic, especially since I'm kinda combining comedy and tragedy in a way. And also that I don't plan on writing from the other Osamu's POV (except for one thing) when I'd usually focus on his POV. Anyways, I did a whole bunch of research for this fic! And as any of you who remember Twist of Fate might recall, a lot of that was research for meaningless throwaway lines and stuff. Some of the research I'll get into later in the fic where it's more important, so I'll focus on some stuff for this part of the fic specifically. As a note though, please ignore COVID's existence for the sake of this fic, I was already losing it trying to research Japan's COVID response to try and work that with what I wanted but eventually it got to be way too much. So for the sake of this fic and my peace of mind, COVID is not a thing. Haikyuu's 2020 Olympics got postponed for some other reason.
> 
> The Black Jackals are located in Ohasuhigashi in Higashiosaka. The Adlers are located in Kodaira in Tokyo, specifically Koganei. I just placed Onigiri Miya in Osaka's Chuo Ward because I thought it would be a good place and also I wanted Osamu and Atsumu to be within easy travelling distance of both each other and their mother. There was some research done on Twitter that showed that Inarizaki is almost certainly located in Amagasaki, so that's where I put the high school and where the twins lived back then.
> 
> You may ask: Willow, did you research weather in April 2019 and April 2020 in Japan for some meaningless lines? To which I answer, did you expect anything less of me? I will say it was a pain in the ass trying to find weather specifically for Osaka's Chuo Ward. Also, the casual things Osamu mentioned visiting for the twins' trip to Higashiosaka? Those are all some stuff you can do in real life Higashiosaka! Other side note, I did some research into when professional volleyball seasons start in Japan and Brazil, hence why I decided the fic takes place when it does and also why I said fuck it to all that COVID research I did. Based on my research and Haikyuu's own timeline I figured that it made the most sense that Hinata only spent that one season with the Jackals before going back to Brazil.
> 
> The rest of my research as related to this chapter was minor stuff. Typical Japanese breakfast things, how to make onigiri, stuff like that. So with all that in mind, let me explain the minor OCs that may show up once in a blue moon!
> 
> Onigiri Miya's three employees: Hitome Akiko, Ubara Hiroto, and Kijima Sakura. I already quickly explained who they are in the fic itself and you'll really not need to know more than that. However, fun fact, their surnames all have a common theme. And that theme is rice! Hitome is named after Hitomebore Rice, Ubara is named after Ubara Extra Premium Japanese White Rice, and Kijima is named after Kijima Tsuyahime Yamagata White Rice. You may notice a two other names, Hokkyo and Haiiro. I'll get into this more once the fic is finished but this particular fic underwent a BUNCH of changes. One of the earliest versions took place in high school in the twins' third year. Hokkyo and Haiiro would have been reoccuring OCs there. If I ever get to write the other Haikyuu fic I have in mind, these two will get their proper appearance. But here's info on them all the same! Hokkyo Youichirou, a first year when the twins were third years and the setter who takes over for Atsumu after the twins' graduation. Torn between being terrified of Atsumu and idolizing him, a timid young man who is desperate for approval. His name is based on hokkyoku-gitsune, the Japanese name for the Artic fox. Haiiro Chiaki, a second year when the twins were third years and the libero who took over for Akagi. He is Hokkyo's childhood friend and is fierce and loud. Haiiro definitely prefers Osamu out of the twins, respecting Osamu's versatility as a player and (seemingly) calmer demeanor. His name is based on Haiiro-gitsune, the Japanese name for Gray fox. Another OC who will make an appearance in this fic is Atsumu and Osamu's mother, who I have named Kamiko, based on inari-okami who is the goddess connected with many things, including foxes and rice (I wanted a name for her that fit the fox theme but also matched well with the meaning of the twins' names).
> 
> Alright these notes are getting long so I'll end it here. I'm gonna be busy for a bit, so hopefully the next chapter will be out sometime next week. I plan on it being out before the year ends but we'll have to see. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it! Please read and review!


	2. Secondhand Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me getting this chapter out with less than an hour to go before midnight in my timezone: See!!! I told you I'd get the next chapter out before the new year!!! Well, I can at least say now that I don't think this will be a three part story! Right now I leaning towards either four or five parts, but it all depends on how much I get through in each chapter. I think by the time I get the next chapter out, whenever that may be, I'll have a concrete idea how many chapters this story will be. I also never intended for the chapters to be as long as they are. The last one was nearly 9500 words and now this one is over 10000. Would you believe a few hours ago as I was writing this I was worried this chapter was gonna be on the short side? Yeah...Anyways, let's get on with the show!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu or any of its characters.

Osamu was first, Atsumu was second. That’s how it was, right from the very start. 

On that humid October morning in 1995, just before sunrise, Osamu was born. Much like he was for the rest of his life, Osamu was quiet. Worried his mother to death with how little noise he made but the doctors reassured her that he was a healthy child, just not a noisy one. But his mother remained anxious, asking the doctors and nurses to check one more time, two more times, just to make sure. Babies were supposed to be loud, weren’t they?

“I should’ve shut my yap then and there,” Miya Kamiko had sighed every time she recounted the tale of the birth to her sons, whether they asked about it or not.

She really should have because eight minutes later, as the sun finally rose, came the shrieking banshee that was Atsumu. Atsumu’s piercing wails eventually set off Osamu, the newborn twins’ cries creating a chaotic symphony that would follow them for years to come. 

Osamu first, Atsumu second. That was the pattern of their life.

Osamu was the first to walk, the first to speak. The first to learn to read and write, the first to ride a bicycle. 

Osamu was the first to get physical, in fights and in play. Threw off everyone that a loudmouth who got on everyone’s nerves like Atsumu was so slow to throw the first punch while Osamu, who was known to quietly fume until someone, usually Atsumu, took things too far, was infamous for his sucker punches. 

He was also the first to apologize, even when it was more his brother’s fault.

Osamu was the first to make friends, not because he sought them out but because they gravitated towards him, the quieter twin, the so-called kinder twin. Atsumu would become friends with them through association with Osamu, never having had friends to call his and his alone for many years. 

He was also the first to leave those friends behind to go after Atsumu, usually to bother him or goad him into some stupid childish antics, even though he didn’t have to, was never forced to.

Osamu first, Atsumu second. That was how it was supposed to be. That was what Osamu considered expected, ordinary.

Then again, Atsumu was never ordinary. 

Atsumu was the first to understand stuff in class, having always been a better student than Osamu. Only by a little in the long run, but enough of a difference that they’ve been in separate classes since middle school. 

Atsumu was the first to fall in love with volleyball, to keep and grow that love until it became more than a hobby, more than a sport, more than a passion.

Atsumu was the first to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Atsumu was the first to find someone to love and who loved him in return. Yes, Atsumu had gone against the “expected” and experienced many “firsts” before Osamu.

…Even going ahead and dying first, according to this nightmarish future Osamu found himself in.

Osamu wasn’t the type to think about death, especially not his own. The last time he could remember doing so was back as a high school second year, shortly before the third years’ graduation, when he and the rest of the volleyball club had started a discussion about their team’s motto. A simple discussion about different interpretations of it turned into talks about memories in general and the next thing Osamu knew, everyone was talking about their feelings on death. It got pretty morbid. Suna, the little shit, even started playing some classic punk style visual kei songs on his phone to “help set the mood” or whatever.

Kita was the one to bring the dark but honestly fairly casual discussion to a halt, explaining to the group in that ever straightforward and calm tone of his that death was inescapable and came for everyone regardless of race, class, or creed. That all were equal in death’s grasp so there was no need to fear its natural and inevitable arrival. 

Of course, instead of reassuring anyone, Kita’s words just sent the entire volleyball team into an existential crisis for another five minutes before Coach Kurosu banned all death related discussion in the gym from that day forth. 

Osamu hadn’t contributed much during that conversation, Atsumu yapping up enough of a storm for the both of them. But he couldn’t help but recall what Atsumu had yelled at him at the peak of their fight a few weeks before, after Osamu had finally admitted he wasn’t going pro with volleyball.

_“When we’re on our deathbeds, I’m gonna turn and look you right in yer face and say I had the happier life!”_

Atsumu was probably just being a dramatic brat like usual, but the words stuck with Osamu, clung to the deepest corners of his mind. The two of them on their deathbeds, side by side. Why was it so fitting? That the two of them were born together, so naturally they would die together?

It was unrealistic if Osamu could be honest, a mere fantasy. But it was an appealing one. The two of them lying by each other’s side, surrounded by the ones they loved most, passing away without having to learn what it was like to live without each other.

Maybe Osamu would even die first and Atsumu would follow behind eight minutes later, just for the hell of it.

But according to this future, they would never get to live their lives, raise their own families, bicker and compete until they were wrinkly old geezers.

Because Atsumu died at age 23, thanks to a freak twist of fate. Because Atsumu went first, leaving Osamu behind.

Osamu couldn’t bring himself to read the article in the end. He saw the title and had tossed his phone away, hearing it clatter across the floor. 

There were three possible explanations he could think of: he was dreaming, he had lost his memories of the past year, or he had time travelled one year into the future.

How badly he wanted the dream option to be the answer. It was why he had twisted his cheek so hard back in Onigiri Miya. But Osamu wasn’t waking up, no matter how much he pinched or scratched at his skin, slapped his cheeks, splashed ice cold water on his face. It was when he got a bit too desperate and grabbed a fork, seconds away from stabbing the back of his hand with it, that he finally regained his senses.

He would’ve woken up by now if this truly was a dream. And Osamu had never had a dream this realistic in his life.

Losing his memories of the past year, maybe from sickness or an accident or some other bullshit that belonged on a daytime drama, was the second most logical choice. And it was the one Osamu had dismissed the quickest. It was too out there, too stupid of a choice to even begin considering.

What that said about him, that he accepted time travel over memory loss, he didn’t know.

But it made the most sense, bizarrely enough, so it was the option he had to go with. Osamu had fallen asleep in 2019 and woken up on April 14th, 2020. He recovered his phone from where he’d thrown it and checked through his emails and texts. Everything was dated from 2019, other than the texts that he’d woken up to that morning, which were still being strictly ignored. Osamu supposed that now that he was in the future, all the messages meant for the future Osamu were being sent to his phone.

But then where was the Osamu of 2020? Had he swapped places with him? He was pretty sure he had, the clothes he’d woken up in that morning were definitely the same ones he went to sleep in the night before. As it stood, if Osamu truly had swapped places with his future self, then that other Osamu was probably having the worst time of his life back in the past. Back in a time where Atsumu was still alive.

… _If_ Atsumu was still-

 _No_. 

Osamu smacked his cheeks hard, the sting lingering for several moments. He stopped that train of thought before it went anywhere. He refused to think like that. He really didn’t understand how this time travel stuff worked, but that didn’t matter. Atsumu was alive. _He was alive_.

Twin telepathy and all that junk wasn’t real as far as Osamu was concerned. He and Atsumu were often in sync? They had a habit of knowing what the other was about to do, about to say? That was called “being able to read a person”. They were born within minutes of each other, grew up by each other’s side. Day in and day out, for years and years. Of course they knew each other better than anyone else. Better than they knew _themselves_ at times.

But, if Osamu could be honest with himself, there could be something else. A gut feeling, an unquestionable _something_ deep within him. A connection that maybe only other twins could hope to understand. That something was what made Osamu so certain Atsumu was still alive.

If Atsumu had died, he would’ve known. The sheer agony that would have coursed through him the second his twin’s heart beat its last while Osamu was stuck a year away, unable to do anything, to even see him one last time, would’ve knocked him unconscious if not outright killed him on the spot. There was no rhyme or reason to that mysterious feeling, but Osamu knew it to be real and true. 

So Atsumu was certainly still alive back in 2019. The future Osamu was most likely back in 2019 as well. And Osamu himself was in 2020, in a future where his brother was dead, with no idea as to how he got here or how he was supposed to get home.

Goddamnit. 

Truth be told, Osamu found himself handling the bizarre situation much better than he had expected. Sure, there was his initial mini freak out, but after he had made a small measure of sense as to what was going on, it became easier to deal with. Maybe it was the certainty he felt that Atsumu was still alive back in his own time that kept him from falling too deep into the despair of his situation.

Or maybe he was experiencing some new combination of denial and acceptance. That would be a fun one to try and place on those “steps of grief”. 

…Or maybe he really had lost it in the most lowkey way imaginable.

Regardless of how well he may or may not be handling the whole time travel thing, that did nothing to help him figure out how to undo it. He tried searching around the future Osamu’s apartment to see if he could find some clues, but there was nothing that screamed “time travel related”.

Instead, the apartment felt very off-putting. It was shaped the same way as Osamu’s own apartment: same rooms, same colors, same furniture. The clothes in the closet were familiar, the plants and knickknacks lining the shelves were the same. But something about the place was bothering him…

And no matter how many times Osamu went over the previous night, he couldn’t recall doing anything out of the ordinary. It was a normal night, a normal walk, and he went to sleep right away.

…Except…wasn’t there something he thought was odd? What was-?

Osamu’s heart practically leapt out of his chest when his thoughts were brought to a grinding halt by the shrill ring of his cellphone. Damn it, he was certain he was close to remembering _something_. He looked at the screen, half tempted to ignore the call just as he had been ignoring those texts, when he paused.

It was his mother.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Osamu whispered over and over as the ringtone played on.

If he answered, would she realize something was wrong? His mother always had some freaky sixth sense with the twins, knowing of their shenanigans long before either of them broke down and told her. But then again, time travel? Really? Osamu was certain that Atsumu was the only person who’d ever believe his story with no hesitation, but telling him was unfortunately out of the question in this case. And if he didn’t answer, would she keep calling? Would she think something was wrong and come see him? Would it be easier to deal with this over the phone or face to face?

“Fuck it,” Osamu finally decided as he accepted the call, “Hey, Mom.”

“Osamu!” her voice sounded the same as ever, Osamu could almost believe nothing was wrong, “I had a feelin’ this would be the best way to get ya. I sent a text earlier but…”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve gotten a bunch of texts this morning,” Osamu frowned at the way his mother’s exhaustion peeked through at the end of her sentence, “Too many to tackle at once! What, did everyone coordinate it so they’d text me at the same time?”

Kamiko didn’t respond right away, Osamu nearly slapping himself. Too lighthearted, too carefree. Damn it, he was supposed to be mourning! But what was he supposed to sound like after mourning his brother for a year? What was his other self like? His panicked thoughts were interrupted by a suspiciously wet chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Yer startin’ to sound more like yourself, sweetheart,” Kamiko told him, “I’m…I’m glad.”

Osamu shoved down the guilt bubbling up within him. Guilt for the relief in Kamiko’s voice, for the trouble he would be causing his future self when everything went back to normal if Osamu wasn’t more careful with his words.

“Yeah, well…” he didn’t know where to go with that so he tried to redirect the conversation, “You wanted to ask about something, Mom?”

“Oh, yes,” Kamiko cleared her throat, “I just wanted to ask, about Atsumu’s death anniversary-”

Oh.

Right, that was a thing…

Osamu didn’t know why he forgot, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to death anniversaries. He and his family always attended the ones held for his father and for his grandmother. In his father’s case, the twins would always hang out with each other in their own corner of the shrine, within eyesight of their mother to fend off any relatives with big mouths who tried to push her, over and over, about stupid junk like remarriage or overwhelm her with memories. Kamiko could certainly handle herself, and did so with no trouble for years when the twins were younger, but being her guardians allowed the boys to do _something_ at the death anniversary, their own memories of their father too hazy for them to have any real connection to the man or contribute to any discussions about him.

In the case of their grandmother’s death anniversary, the twins would do their own things. Atsumu going off on his own and snapping at relatives who tried to push their presence on him while Osamu stuck by his mother’s side or was pulled into conversation after conversation with relatives who found him “much more agreeable” than Atsumu. Well, their grandmother had practically raised them alongside their mother, it was only natural it would affect them more. And Atsumu was always his quietest on the anniversary, having always been an unrepentant granny’s boy. 

But to attend one without his brother because it was for his brother…

“Well, Osamu?”

“Huh?” he had completely tuned out his mother’s voice, “Ahh, s-sorry, Mom, what were ya askin’?”

Instead of scolding him for zoning out, as he had a bad habit of doing when he focused too much on his own mind, she only let out a gentle sigh before paraphrasing what she had said.

“Simply put, everyone’s having lunch at my house at around one. Are you coming?”

“Lunch? What about the shrine visit?” Osamu asked. It was what they had done for his father and grandmother, “What, the shrine’s closed or somethin’?”

A beat. Then another.

“We…just finished the shrine visit,” his mother told him slowly.

“And what, I don’t get to go?” Osamu tried to hold back the irritation in his voice, “I don’t live _that_ far away from Amagasaki.”

“Osamu, you…you wanted to come?” his mother sincerely sounded bewildered.

“What’s _that_ mean? Why _wouldn’t_ I come?”

He was getting too worked up, he knew that. This wasn’t his life, not his future. Not _his_ Atsumu. But the implication bothered him more than he could ever say. The idea that Osamu wouldn’t want to participate in Atsumu’s death anniversary.

He and Atsumu were at each other’s throats more often than not, but they were brothers. Twins. Together from before they ever knew what the word meant. _Why wouldn’t he go_???

“B-but,” Kamiko stammered for a moment before taking a breath and continuing, “Osamu, dear, you told me yesterday you didn’t wanna come. With how much ya yelled, I thought you meant it!”

…What?

The wind had been blown from his sails with those words. His other self didn’t wanna go? Went so far as to yell at his own mother over it?

…Not his life, not his future, not his Atsumu.

What had his other self been going through since that April day in 2019? Osamu wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his future self. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand, because that would mean picturing a life without his brother. Then again, he _was_ being forced to live such a life at the moment…

“I…” Osamu swallowed, trying to calm himself. Really, he kept digging himself in deeper and deeper, “Sorry, Mom. I guess I forgot, I-”

“No, it’s alright,” Kamiko had either gotten real good at concealing her anger or she was being lenient with Osamu, “We can’t help gettin’ all worked up today of all days, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“…Will ya come for lunch?”

“Yeah,” maybe it would help him figure things out, “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Good!” she sounded so happy, so relieved, “Ya know, sweetheart, I’m glad. This is the longest conversation we’ve had in…in quite some time.”

“Was it?” Osamu asked.

“Certainly! And I’m happy you’re more willin’ to talk about your brother. You haven’t mentioned him in so long.”

Osamu blankly said goodbye to his mother, the beep of the disconnected call echoing in his ear, as it hit him. Such a simple closing sentence but it finally clicked. That was what was bothering him most about future Osamu’s apartment.

Atsumu was gone.

A picture of the volleyball club from when the twins were in their second year, taken just before the third years graduated. Atsumu and Riseki had the reddest eyes of the lot of them from the streams of tears they shed, Atsumu and Osamu both clinging to a laughing Aran and smiling Kita while Ginjima clung to Akagi and Oomimi like a lifeline, Suna and Kosaku looking like they were trying to hide their snickers while Haiiro looked like he was about to tackle them in a hug. Another one from the twins’ graduation the following year, Atsumu and Osamu both struggling to hide their teary faces while Suna and Ginjima forced them both to look at the camera, Kosaku ruffling Suna's hair. Hokkyo and Riseki were sobbing hysterically as they held each other, Haiiro patting their backs while side eyeing the camera.

Those pictures weren’t in the living room.

A picture from before Atsumu’s debut match on the professional stage, Atsumu wearing the widest smile on his face with a hand on his hip, Osamu next to him with an equally broad grin and sneakily holding up a pair of fingers behind Atsumu’s head like bunny ears. Their mom was tiny standing between them, one arm around Osamu's waist while the other was linked with Atsumu’s arm. Another picture from Onigiri Miya’s grand opening, the photo capturing Osamu in the middle of a laugh, his mom on one side with her arms wrapped around his middle while Atsumu was on the other side, an arm draped across Osamu’s shoulders.

Those pictures weren’t at their spots on the wall in the hall.

That one picture from Christmas, when Atsumu and Hinata arranged a joint party for the Miya and Hinata families instead of enjoying the holiday for themselves. Osamu holding a beaming Hinata in a headlock with Atsumu right beside them carrying Natsu, Hinata’s younger sister, on his back, Kamiko and Hinata’s mother on either side of their kids.

It wasn’t on the shelf it usually was.

The volleyball that was usually in the corner of the living room, the one he used for everything from personal training to casual neighborhood matches to the heated competitions whenever Atsumu had time to come over, was gone. 

In his bedroom, he noticed a patch of wall that had obviously been painted over recently. The spot where, when Osamu had first moved in, Atsumu decided to be an asshole and write his signature on with a black marker, Osamu never bothering to cover it up afterwards.

It was as if all traces of Atsumu had been scraped from the apartment, as if he was never there to begin with.

“What the hell, other me?”

~~~~~~~~

The train ride to Amagasaki went by smoothly enough. Osamu had made sure to wear enough to cover himself up, even though he may have looked a little overdressed for such pleasant weather. He knew not everyone was a sports fan, certainly not a volleyball fan, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Atsumu was a star in the volleyball world and his face had popped up on the news at least a few times by this point. Osamu didn’t want to deal with the stares, the questions.

The curse of sharing a face…

It was comforting to breathe in Amagasaki’s air, to walk down familiar streets and spot the twins’ old haunts. When everything went back to normal, Osamu had half a mind to drag Atsumu along on a trip back to their hometown.

His childhood home was the same as ever, small but homely. Familiar and warm. He could hear the chatter coming from the back, could have easily just circled around, but he decided to head through the front door, nearly tripping over the cluster of shoes in the entryway. As Osamu took off his own shoes, he spotted an odd hole in the wall, near the floor, that he was certain wasn’t there the last time he visited his mother.

Another subtle reminder that this wasn’t 2019, that everyone else he spoke with had experienced a whole year Osamu didn’t.

Before he could call out to announce his arrival, he heard a quick patter of feet, a familiar face rounding the corner.

A year hadn’t changed Kamiko too much from the mother Osamu knew, though it looked like there were a few more streaks of gray in her black hair than he remembered. But her smile was still as warm and welcoming as ever, a balm to soothe the pain Osamu’s unwilling fantastical adventure was putting him through. 

“Welcome home, Osamu!” she greeted, yanking him down so she could pepper his cheeks and forehead with kisses, “Everyone else is in the backyard, go on and join them!”

“But, Mom, don’t ya need help making food?” Osamu asked, already taking a few steps toward the kitchen.

Kamiko grabbed him by the back of his shirt, turning him the direction of the door leading to the back, giving a shove in that direction for good measure.

“Who do ya think I am, kiddo?” Kamiko scoffed in a way so similar to Atsumu it made Osamu’s chest ache, “I already made enough to feed an army! You just get out there, lunch will be served soon enough.”

“If you’re sure…”

When Osamu stepped out, it was to at least a couple dozen faces he only vaguely recognized. The majority of his extended family lived too far away for him to interact with much. They only ever met during the rare family reunion and the like. Osamu wasn’t looking forward to testing his admittedly mediocre acting skills on these near strangers.

“Osamu!”

Osamu blinked once, twice, three times. But nope, his eyes weren’t fooling him. Walking towards him was definitely his old volleyball teammate and childhood friend, Ojiro Aran.

“Aran-kun!” Osamu let out a laugh as he and Aran hugged, “What’re you doing here? I didn’t even know you were in Amagasaki!”

Death anniversaries were usually celebrated by family members only.

“Just visitin’ the folks during my free time,” Aran explained as the two of them moved to a quieter area of the yard, away from the curious stares, “I met yer mom in the shopping area earlier and she invited me to lunch, said that I was practically another member of the family with how long we’ve known each other.”

That was true. The twins and Aran had been friends ever since Aran was a fifth grader and the twins were in the fourth grade. Initially it had just been the twins getting on the older boy’s nerves, and then Aran and Osamu clicking with each other while Atsumu was ostracized for being a little brat without a filter. But Atsumu and Aran got along soon enough and the years went on. The twins causing countless problems in town while Aran suffered endlessly, keeping them in check more times than not.

A surrogate big brother the twins never asked for but were more than happy to have.

“Plus, she mentioned you might show up,” Aran grinned at him, “She thought ya could do with a friendly face and all that.”

“Yeah, thanks for comin’, Aran-kun,” Osamu smiled wide enough for his cheeks to hurt, “Was worried what I was gonna do here.”

Aran went quiet after Osamu’s response, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Osamu tried not to let the panic seep through onto his face, trying to figure out what he could’ve possibly messed up on this time.

“Yer mom’s right, you _have_ changed,” Aran said after another moment, his smile soft, “I’m glad, Osamu. Everyone…We’ve been real worried, ya know?”

Seriously, how much had his other self changed? Osamu had no idea how he was supposed to keep up any kind of charade if the two of them were _this_ different from each other. 

“Am I really that different?” Osamu asked, wondering if he could get a little insight into the other Osamu.

“At least you’re talking a lot more,” Aran sighed, crossing his arms in front of him as he leaned against the wall of the house, “You’ve been ignorin’ most of us for the past year, barely ever answering calls or texts.”

Osamu really hoped he wasn’t setting his other self up for trouble when they switched back. He could only imagine the confusion it would cause to go from his future self’s persona to Osamu’s piss poor attempt at fitting in and then back to his future self. 

“I’m just happy to see you again, that’s all,” Osamu responded, joining Aran against the wall, “I really wasn’t looking forward to trying to talk with my relatives.”

Actually, now that he thought about it, Osamu was surprised none of them had come up to him to try and say something. Back in the other death anniversaries he and Atsumu couldn’t get them to leave them alone half the time. In fact, now that Osamu checked out the crowd of relatives, he realized they all seemed to be side eyeing him while whispering to themselves.

“Cold reception, huh?” Osamu muttered more to himself than Aran.

“Yeah, well,” Aran’s tone was awkward as he rubbed the back of his neck, “After what happened last year…”

“‘Last year’?” Osamu repeated with a furrowed brow after Aran trailed off. He decided to take a guess at what Aran was alluding to, “At the funeral, ya mean?”

Aran blinked, seemingly shocked that Osamu had even mentioned the funeral. Well, from what little Osamu had figured out about his future self, it seemed fitting that he wouldn’t speak much about that either. Which only begged the question of how the other Osamu was handling things back in 2019, especially when Atsumu figured out something was off.

“Yeah,” Aran said carefully, probably trying to figure out how much was okay to say to who he assumed was _his_ Osamu, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame ya for what ya did. I would’ve punched the bastard too if-”

“ _Punched_???” Osamu’s voice was much louder than he had anticipated, the low murmur of the crowd dying down as all eyes turned in his and Aran’s direction. He narrowed his eyes at the number of glares being shot at him in particular, before whispering to Aran, “I, uh, I _punched_ someone?”

Granted, Osamu was known for punching people who had it coming, but at a _funeral_??? His own brother’s, for that matter?

“Do you…seriously not remember?” Aran looked worried for Osamu now.

Fucking hell, would someone just roll with it and answer him without questioning his supposed memory problems?

“Well, my head wasn’t right that day,” Osamu explained, averting his gaze to give Aran fewer possible tells to pick out his lie from, “Gotta admit everything kinda blended together, I don’t know how much was real and how much I dreamt up.”

That was believable enough, right?

Apparently Aran thought so, his expression growing far more sympathetic. He shot a glare of his own at the crowd, who slowly returned to their own conversations, though the low murmur sounded far more heated. 

“…It was one of yer cousins,” Aran told him, “Junpei, or something?”

Well, a majority of the guilt Osamu might have felt for the poor family member he decked was erased with that reveal. Osamu probably knew Junpei the best out of all his distant family members, and that was not a good thing. The guy’s parents were okay enough, especially the less they spoke. But Junpei was a smug asshole who didn’t even know the meaning of the word “filter”, probably made a filter cry from how little of a shit he gave about protecting another’s feelings. He had once heard another cousin describe the guy as “Atsumu with the bastard dial turned up to a thousand”, and he had never felt more mortally offended on his brother’s behalf before in his life.

“Ugh, figures it was that prick,” Osamu groaned, “Remind me what he said?”

Aran’s expression was uneasy at the question. Osamu felt a pulse in the back of his head, a dull throb that was distracting him. 

“Are ya…sure you want me to tell ya that?” Aran asked, his calm tone unsettling Osamu more than anything.

“What’d he say, Aran-kun?”

The throbbing was starting to make him wince. Aran looked at him for what felt like an eternity before he continued, reluctance coating every word.

“I didn’t hear it myself, only what everyone said afterwards,” for all Aran’s voice was even, there was a calm fury clear in his eyes, “Something about how Atsumu had a habit of charging ahead without considering the consequences, so it was only a matter of time before he died a stupid death.”

The throb in Osamu’s head was forgotten, replaced by fire.

Pure. Seething. Fire.

“How bad?” Osamu’s voice sounded foreign to him, far too soft. His fists clenched and unclenched in time with the pulse in his temple, “How bad did I punch him?”

“Broke his nose before some of yer uncles grabbed you.”

“Not hard enough then.”

Fuck him. 

Fuck that bastard. 

If he ever ran into him in this future, Osamu had no qualms about shattering his stupid nose again. So what if that was more trouble for the other Osamu to deal with? His future self would probably tell him he should’ve gone ballistic on him. Hell, Osamu might just make up some excuse to punch the Junpei of his own time once he went back!

… _However_ …

“‘Charging ahead without considering the consequences…?’” Osamu repeated those words under his breath, ignoring Aran’s hand on his shoulder, Aran’s voice by his ear.

The drunk driver had run a red light. Atsumu was crossing the street, as he had the right to do, and was hit. What part of that was “charging ahead”?

“Osamu,” Aran’s voice finally came through to him, “I shouldn’t have said a damn thing, yer face is all pale.”

“No,” Osamu gently pushed Aran away, turning to head back inside the house, “If anyone asks, you don’t know where I went.”

“Osamu-”

“Aran-kun, please.”

“…Alright,” Aran nodded, “I’ll keep anyone from going after ya.”

Osamu knew the smile he gave Aran was a weak one but it was all he could muster, his brain racing. He quickly went through the halls, making sure not to alert anyone still inside to his presence as he found his safe haven.

His mother still hadn’t changed his and Atsumu’s childhood room. The bunk bed was still there, some of the twins’ old junk was still scattered about the room. Both Osamu and Atsumu had told their mother that she didn’t have to keep it like that, she could convert it to a guest room or a storage area or something, neither of them would take it personally.

“I cherish my memories, thank ya very much!” Kamiko would respond every time with a huff.

Osamu was grateful for her stubbornness on the topic, the gentle familiarity of it all settling him down, at least a little. He closed the bedroom door behind him and sat on the bottom bunk, his old bunk after Atsumu cheated at jan-ken-pon to claim the top one. He took a moment to breathe before he fished his phone out of his pocket to find that article once more.

He didn’t need to know. Honestly, he didn’t _want_ to know. This wasn’t his life he lived, this still wasn’t his Atsumu who he lost.

But what Aran told him echoed in his head, dread building in his chest as he skimmed through the article to see if anything it said could explain Junpei’s callous words. But really, what could possibly-? 

_There_.

Like a bolt out of the blue. Like unknowingly taking a step at the edge of a steep drop-off. His phone slipped from his grasp, crashing to the ground. But the words, that one paragraph, was engraved in his memory.

 _If there could be any ray of light taken from the tragedy of this incident, it was that Miya Atsumu unquestionably died a hero. As mentioned earlier, the setter was spending the day with his twin brother, owner of the successful onigiri restaurant Onigiri Miya: Miya Osamu. Witnesses to the scene recounted how it was Miya Osamu who crossed the street first, his brother remaining behind at the sidewalk for unknown reasons. When the alleged drunk driver blew through the red light, car mere seconds away from striking the young man, Miya Atsumu shoved his brother out of the way, taking a direct hit in his twin’s place._

There was the answer. The one he didn’t want, didn’t need, but sought out all the same.

Atsumu died in Osamu’s place.

Atsumu died for him.

…Atsumu died _because_ of him.

His head shot up at the sound of the bedroom door suddenly opening, only to meet the unsurprised gaze of his mother.

“I didn’t see you outside, Osamu,” she said softly as she closed the door behind her, stepping closer to where Osamu sat, “I figured if you were anywhere, it’d be here.”

Osamu took a shuddering breath, and then another. What could he tell her? What was Osamu supposed to say? What could he say???

But Kamiko asked nothing of him. Her eyes spotted the phone on the floor, article still clearly visible on the screen. When she returned her gaze to Osamu’s face, her lower lip wobbled.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Kamiko didn’t say another word, stepping close to Osamu and wrapping her arms around him, his face pressing against her stomach. Osamu’s own arms wrapped around her in return. If his grip was too tight, she didn’t complain. If he was shaking too hard, she didn’t say anything.

Of course he’d do this. Of course he would!

Idiot. Reckless. _Selfless_.

“ _Goddamnit, Sumu…_ ” 

~~~~~~~~

There was a plethora of ways one could and should react to being told that they were supposed to die a day ago and the sibling they thought was just being an inconsiderate ass was actually a time traveler from a year in the future.

Then again, Atsumu was never ordinary. 

Osamu, the one who was 24 and a time traveler instead of the one who was 23 and definitely _not_ a time traveler, had given Atsumu a brief explanation. About how the twins’ trip to the city on April 14th had ended in tragedy. About how a drunk driver cut a red light and slammed right into Atsumu as he was crossing the street. 

Atsumu’s words had failed him, only a bit of mindless babble leaving his lips. He briefly recalled seeing the news report the previous morning about a drunk driver causing some injuries. No deaths though. Only because he hadn’t been there. 

And Atsumu wasn’t there only because Osamu was living the plot of some generic sci-fi movie. 

Atsumu could have asked this future Osamu some questions. He could have had a nasty breakdown. Atsumu could have done many things.

What he did instead was silently stand up, retrieve his coat from where he left it on the nearby couch before he and Osamu made breakfast, and walk out of the apartment, Osamu wordlessly watching him go. 

Though it seemed Osamu didn’t expect him to return around twenty minutes later, slamming the apartment door open, a shopping bag in each hand.

“Wha-?” Osamu had startled at the slam of the door, hands covered in water and soap from the dishes he’d been washing. He stared at the bags in Atsumu’s hands, before looking up at Atsumu’s face in pure bafflement, “Why are you-? What are-?” 

“I know you don’t got any proper baking shit in this place!” Atsumu snapped as he slammed the contents of his bags onto the table, one by one, “Dumbass. Never could figure out how to bake a damn thing.”

“So you…bought stuff?” Osamu asked carefully as Atsumu finished placing all the items on the table before going through the refrigerator and cupboards, pulling out ingredients and bowls.

“What, ya expect me to go back to _my_ apartment and grab my stuff and come all the way back here?” Atsumu stomped over to the oven and preceded to set it up to preheat at 175 degrees Celsius. He ripped off his coat and tossed in the direction of the living room, not caring if it landed on the couch or on the floor, “I value my time, thank you very much!”

“… _Why_???”

Atsumu turned to look at the utterly confused future Osamu, a large bowl in one hand and a container of vegetable oil in the other. 

“Cause I’m gonna make some goddamn cookies.”

What happened next was probably the most awkward baking session Atsumu had ever had.

“Here,” Atsumu placed down a bowl filled with melted butter, cocoa powder, sugar, and vegetable oil in front of Osamu, who was sitting at the kitchen table, “I need ya to beat the egg.”

“But I-” whatever Osamu wanted to say was cut off by Atsumu cracking an egg into the bowl and adding in some vanilla extract before shoving a whisk in Osamu’s hand.

“Don’t wanna hear it! You got a good arm, so start mixin’!”

Atsumu really didn’t want to hear whatever Osamu had to say. His mind was too busy being loud enough. Atsumu knew without a doubt that Osamu wasn’t lying, wasn’t trying to pull a prank. It was an unspoken agreement between them that there were certain topics neither of them would prank each other with, death being one of them.

What that said about him, that he accepted time travel over the idea of his brother changing his mind about playing shitty pranks, he didn’t know.

But it would explain that constant thrum of “wrong” that coursed through his veins before Osamu revealed the truth. That while this was clearly Osamu, there was something off about him, something that made him feel like a stranger. And that look in Osamu’s eyes when he had explained what happened, there was no way to fake it. It reminded Atsumu too much of the way his mother looked back when his grandmother had died. 

“You doin’ alright there?” Atsumu asked, adding a mixture of flour, baking powder, and salt into the bowl Osamu was carefully mixing.

“Yeah, I got it,” Osamu replied, not looking up from the bowl, watching the goop become dough.

Atsumu pretended to be carefully measuring out how many chocolate chips he would need, his mind racing. The time traveler had told him some details about his death, though Atsumu had a feeling he was still holding back some information. But that could be dealt with another time. As it currently stood, Atsumu’s death was supposed to occur the day before, but here he was, alive and well. So why was the future Osamu still here? If he didn’t die, there was no need for future Osamu to even show up in the past. Unless there was some parallel timeline shit going on, and-

Nope. He was stopping right there, he could already feel the headache forming. He would simply assume that future Osamu was from an alternate future, made things simple for everyone. But that still left plenty of questions about everything else Osamu had told him thus far.

What did Osamu go through on the day of Atsumu’s death, since he certainly would have witnessed it? How was everyone else doing in 2020, after Atsumu’s death? Why did Osamu decide to fall asleep on the roof of his apartment building in the rain? What made future Osamu come back to 2019 in the first place?

What happened to the Osamu of 2019?

“…Hey,” Atsumu carefully poured chocolate chips into the bowl before taking it back from Osamu, folding the chips into the dough as he walked towards where he placed the baking sheets, “What happened to Osamu, _my_ Osamu I mean, if you’re here?”

“…I’m not sure.”

“What do ya mean?” Atsumu nearly slammed the bowl down on the kitchen counter as he turned towards Osamu, his heart beating faster, “You have _no_ idea what could’ve happened to him?”

“I have no idea how _I_ got here, how would I know what happened to _him_?” Osamu shot back, turning his gaze away from Atsumu. There was a beat of silence before he let out a sigh, “…When I woke up yesterday, my clothes were the same ones I went to sleep in, and they were soaked. Definitely from the rain that night. So…”

“…So, odds are, the two of ya swapped places,” Atsumu finished, scooping out the dough onto the sheets and pressing them down to the thickness he wanted.

He thought of Osamu, _his_ Osamu, stuck in 2020. How was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he alright, what if something happened to-?

 _No_.

Atsumu would know. If anything bad had happened to Osamu, as his twin he would know. He would never be able to explain it properly if anyone asked, but it was a real and true feeling all the same. He wouldn’t doubt it.

“…Yer takin’ this better than I thought ya would,” Osamu murmured as he watched Atsumu place the baking sheets in the oven and set a timer on his phone before sitting across from Osamu at the table.

“Funny. I was gonna say the same about _you_.”

For Atsumu, he figured that the reassuring gut feeling that Osamu was alright plus the lack of time for the shock of everything to properly hit him was keeping him from freaking out. But he wondered about the Osamu sitting across from him, who seemed too calm for what he was going through. Atsumu didn’t want to think about what he would be like, if he was in his alternate future twin’s shoes, but he would’ve expected him to be a lot more worked up over all this, especially seeing his dead brother again.

“I think I got most of it out of my system yesterday,” Osamu explained, as if reading Atsumu’s thoughts. Osamu’s eyes darted in the direction of his bedroom, “It…wasn’t pretty.”

Ah, that was right. Yesterday, April 14th. When Osamu went no contact with him the whole day.

“I, uh, unblocked ya, by the way,” Osamu said sheepishly, “Sorry for yesterday.”

“…It’s fine,” Atsumu really didn’t like how much this Osamu was apologizing, especially in such a nervous way, “What happened when I called yesterday, ya didn’t recognize my voice?”

“I was tired.”

The response was too quick, an unexpected warning tone to it. Atsumu wanted to ignore it, to ask anyways, but the words turned to ash in his mouth. His knee bounced as he glanced at the time: still eight minutes to go.

“Any more questions for me?” Osamu asked after a few more tense seconds of silence.

Too many. Far too many. But the real question was how many of them would Osamu give any honest response to. And how many were Atsumu ready to listen to? 

“How’s mom?” Atsumu finally chose to ask, “I mean, how’d she handle…ya know…”

“…I’d never seen her cry so much.”

Atsumu flinched. He had never seen his mother cry _at all_. Miya Kamiko was always the type to wear a strong face in front of others, whether anyone asked it of her or not. Atsumu couldn’t remember seeing any tears on her face in the few, faint memories he had of his father’s funeral when he was too young to think much of it. Nor did he see any of her tears on the day of his grandmother’s funeral. 

Miya Kamiko would always save her tears for when no one could see her. 

“She’s been so strong,” Osamu continued, eyes locked on Atsumu but not really focused on him. The corners of his lips suddenly lifted upwards, almost imperceptibly, “Ya know, the wife of that drunk driver found Mom’s address and went to her house. Complained that we ‘ruined her husband’s reputation’, or some bullshit.”

“ _What_?” Atsumu’s nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists, his teeth gritted.

“Don’t worry, Mom took care of her. Took care of her reeeeal good.”

Atsumu stared at Osamu for a moment, then another, Osamu staring back, expression begging Atsumu to realize what he was hinting at. And then it hit him like a freight train. 

“… _No_ …” Atsumu let out something between a gasp and laugh, “Mom didn’t.”

“The wall by the entryway still has a hole from where that woman smacked into it,” Osamu mimed a backhanded slap, “Wish I could’ve seen it firsthand.”

The two stared at each other for a second, lips twitching, before they started to laugh. Atsumu’s a loud cackle, Osamu’s a soft chuckle, a hand covering his mouth. As Atsumu’s timer went off and he went to retrieve the cookies from the oven, he couldn’t stop glancing over at Osamu’s face.

Soft didn’t suit Osamu. The man wasn’t as talkative as Atsumu, but he was more than capable of being loud, especially when it came to a good laugh. But this time it almost sounded as if he wasn’t used to it. Atsumu couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since Osamu last laughed, honestly and freely. But this was the first sincere positive emotion Atsumu had seen from the guy since they met, so he wouldn’t question it. At least, not for now.

“Careful, they’re still hot,” Atsumu said, placing a plate piled high with the cookies on the table.

Osamu hesitantly grabbed one of the cookies and took a slow bite of it. Atsumu smirked when his eyes widened, a twinkle in both of them. He held back a sigh of relief at the familiar expression. Osamu gestured towards the plate but Atsumu shook his head, not wanting to mess around with his athlete’s diet. 

“Well? Good shit, right?” Atsumu tried to dial back the smugness, just a bit.

“Yeah, I…I think I remember this recipe of yours,” Osamu replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at Atsumu, “Good job, Atsumu.”

Atsumu truly would not get used to the lack of insults or backhanded compliments. But, more importantly…

“‘Atsumu’?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow at Osamu.

Atsumu would mainly stick to calling his brother “Samu” but had no trouble occasionally calling him “Osamu”. Osamu, on the other hand, almost exclusively referred to him as “Sumu”, only ever using “Atsumu” when he was royally pissed off.

Osamu seemed to realize what he was hinting at, mouth forming a thin line.

“…Because yer not Sumu,” he mumbled.

“Huh?” was all Atsumu could respond with, bracing himself for the newest mental crisis the time traveler was gonna throw at him.

“You’re Atsumu…But you’re not ‘ _Sumu_ ’.”

…Oh.

Well then…

Atsumu could understand that. Truthfully, after the Osamu sitting before him revealed his identity, Atsumu felt uncomfortable calling him “Samu”. He was, technically speaking, still “Samu”. But he wasn’t the same one, not the one Atsumu grew up with.

“Well, that’d make things less confusin’ then, won’t it?” Atsumu tried to sound casual as he laughed it off.

“Suppose so,” Osamu replied, eyeing him carefully, “No other questions?”

Would he be willing to answer any others? Truly?

“…Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu’s voice wavered for a second before he coughed and got it back under control, “Is he…alright?”

Osamu immediately looked uncomfortable the second Hinata’s name left Atsumu’s mouth, going back to not making eye contact with Atsumu.

“We…don’t talk,” Osamu finally answered, right when Atsumu was considering reaching over and shaking him.

“…What’s that mean?” 

Atsumu’s knee was bouncing again, his fingers tapping against the table in an uneven rhythm. 

“We haven’t spoken since…since the funeral,” Osamu’s eyes wouldn’t leave the plate of cookies, “I tried to reach out at first, but he blocked me and then…”

Osamu shrugged, as if to say “what can you do?”

“He’s still playing for Asas São Paulo last I checked,” Osamu went on, “He moved his flight up, left a few days after the funeral.”

Atsumu let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. That was good. His death hadn’t derailed Hinata’s goals. He still went to Brazil, he never stopped playing. 

But going no contact with Osamu…?

“You two had a fight or somethin’?” Atsumu wondered, only for Osamu to shake his head, “…Well, I guess he must be doing fine, right? It’s Shouyou-kun, after all!”

“…Sure.”

Osamu could’ve tried to sound a bit more confident about that. Well, Atsumu didn’t feel too hot about sticking with the topic anyways. It was odd, knowing his Hinata was doing just fine but worrying over another Hinata who had lost him and was, what, coping? Maybe? He leaned down, letting his chin rest atop the table as he watched Osamu nibble away on another cookie.

“…You have no idea how to switch you and Samu back?” he asked.

“Tired of me already, Atsumu?”

The teasing tone and that withering look on Osamu’s face were both so normal, so familiar to Atsumu, who had been on the receiving end of them too many times to count. But the stiffness to Osamu’s shoulders, the way his eyes were glassy, not really looking at Atsumu, was yet another reminder that this wasn’t another ordinary day.

This Osamu hadn’t done anything wrong. Atsumu just wanted things to go back to normal.

“…We can discuss it later,” Atsumu said after the silence went on too long for comfort, going to retrieve his jacket and heading to the door, “After I’m done with practice.”

Osamu merely nodded in response, Atsumu awkwardly nodding in return as he headed out the door. He wondered what would happen first: him growing used to future Osamu’s personality or bringing his Osamu home.

~~~~~~~~

Being in the Black Jackals’ gym, laying on his back and practicing his control by setting a volleyball higher and higher, was just the distraction he needed from the strange mix of familiar and unknown that was dealing with future Osamu. Atsumu had initially wanted to call in sick for the day and get started on undoing the swap between present and future Osamu right away. But the longer he talked with the alternate version of his twin, the more Atsumu realized the two of them would first have to figure out how to interact with each other before they could make any meaningful progress. 

And with how tightly Osamu was sealing his thoughts away, who knew how long it’d take?

Atsumu let out a sigh, preparing for the volleyball to come back down against his hands once more, when a pair of tanned arms shot out and grabbed it. Atsumu tilted his head back a bit to see Hinata standing just behind his head, looking down at him with a worried expression.

“Alright, that’s the fifth time I heard you sigh, Atsumu-san, what’s up?” Hinata asked as Atsumu got to his feet. His brow furrowed, “…Does it have to do with Osamu-san? You said you were gonna speak with him last night.”

“Nah, didn’t see him then, but I got to talk with him before practice today,” Atsumu answered as Hinata tossed the volleyball to him, Atsumu receiving the gentle toss easily.

“And?” Hinata prodded, catching the ball Atsumu had sent back his way, expression a mixture of curious and concerned.

And what? What was Atsumu supposed to say? Just because Atsumu had easily accepted the fantastical truth, only because he knew Osamu like the back of his hand, didn’t mean anyone else would be able to.

“The talk didn’t go well?” Hinata reached a hand out, fingers brushing against Atsumu’s.

“It’s not like that,” Atsumu replied, pulling his hand out of Hinata’s reach, ignoring the puzzled look on his face. The room felt hot, his chest was tight, “We talked…a lot…”

“…And?” Hinata asked once more.

And what? _And what_? What could he say?

That the night of April 13th he and his brother had separated without a care in the world, only for _something_ to happen that night? 

That Osamu somehow time traveled a year into the future, swapping places with the Osamu of the year 2020?

“Atsumu-san?”

That while he was certain the Osamu of his time was alive, he had no clue what he was possibly going through?

That the future Osamu he had spoken to that morning was both unquestionably familiar but practically a stranger in a way Atsumu couldn’t begin to understand?

“H-hey, Atsumu-san? You’re breathing pretty fast.”

“Huh? Tsum-Tsum, you feeling alright?”

That Atsumu was supposed to die the day before, thanks to some stupid fuck who decided to drink and drive, but only didn’t through sheer dumb luck?

That seeing how off future Osamu was, hearing that his mother had cried so much, not knowing how future Hinata was doing after his death was seriously unsettling?

“Atsumu-san. Hey, look at me. Look at me.”

“Miya? What’s going on with you?”

“Tsum-Tsum?”

…That he was realizing that the reality of the situation he was in was finally crashing down on him, his stomach churning painfully as he felt the nausea building…

He didn’t know what to do about Osamu, either of them. He had only avoided death through chance.

Atsumu turned and ran from the court, ignoring the confused shouts behind him.

He managed to make it to the nearest bathroom just in time. What a waste of the breakfast he and Osamu had made. When he was certain his stomach was empty, the twisting in his stomach calming down slightly, he rinsed his mouth and washed his face.

Damn it, what was he supposed to say _now_? Obviously Hinata was gonna have questions about what freaked him out this badly.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!

“Ya damn scrub,” Atsumu spat at himself under his breath. 

As Atsumu exited the bathroom, thoughts racing to come up with a good enough excuse, he was surprised to find a familiar orange haired young man waiting in the hall.

“Atsumu-san!” the relief in Hinata’s voice was palpable as he slowly stepped close, reaching up to cup Atsumu’s face in his hands, “I was so worried about you!”

Before Atsumu could respond, the expression on Hinata’s face shifted to something stern.

“Your face doesn’t feel warm,” he said, leaning closer, “You’re not sweating, no bags under your eyes. They aren’t red either. You’re not sick, right?”

“Sh-Shouyou-kun, I-”

“ _Right_?”

Man, how could the spiker in front of him make such a simple word sound so damn threatening?

“I’m not sick,” Atsumu answered, reaching his hands up to cover the Hinata’s, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t hide somethin’ like that from ya.”

“…I know,” Hinata’s expression relaxed slightly as he let go of Atsumu’s face and stepped back, “You care about volleyball too much to do something stupid like that.”

“Yup, I’m a volleyball idiot, after all!”

“You’re some kind of idiot, that’s for sure.”

“Hey!” Atsumu snapped, turning to face the familiar voice snarking at him, only to flinch at the feel of something cold against his cheek.

There was Sakusa, standing next to him while holding out a cold can of ginger ale. His expression seemed more grouchy than usual.

“Drink it,” Sakusa ordered, “It’ll help settle your stomach.”

Atsumu’s eyes darted from the can to Sakusa’s face, back and forth, before a shit-eating grin spread on his own face.

“Aww, Omi-Omi, you _do_ love me!”

Sakusa grimaced at the words, shaking the can of ginger ale vigorously while maintaining eye contact before shoving it in Atsumu’s hands.

“ _Enjoy_ ,” Sakusa hissed at him, Atsumu chuckling as he slowly and carefully opened the drink to avoid it spurting all over the place.

“TSUM-TSUM!!!!”

The familiar shout of Bokuto’s voice echoing in the hall behind Atsumu and both Hinata and Sakusa stepping away from him were the only warnings he got before something collided with the back of his knees, sending him falling backwards.

Onto…a chair?

Before he could make sense of that, or complain over the ginger ale that was spilled all over his clothes from the sudden fall, he felt a wet towel plop onto his head. Atsumu leaned his head back slightly, placing a hand on the towel to keep it from falling, and stared up at Bokuto’s concerned face.

“Thought you’d wanna sit down so I found this office chair in one of the meeting rooms and brought it for you!” Bokuto stated with a smile, adjusting the towel so it rested against Atsumu’s forehead instead of atop his hair, “Is the towel helping? It’s nice and cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s helping, Bokkun,” Atsumu replied with an affectionate sigh, sitting up straight with a hand pressed to the towel to keep it on his forehead, finally taking a sip of whatever ginger ale was left in the can, feeling his stomach settle down.

“So, what were you freaking out about?” Sakusa asked bluntly.

Atsumu frowned, setting the can down on the ground beside him as he placed the towel on his lap, having a hard time meeting the others’ gazes. After a moment or two, Hinata stepped in front of him, wrapping his arms around Atsumu and tugging him close so that Atsumu’s face was pressed against Hinata’s stomach. Atsumu let out a soft huff of a laugh as he returned the embrace, nuzzling against Hinata.

“Something happened with Osamu-san?” Hinata asked, earning a nod from Atsumu in return, “Is he sick after all?”

“No, not that,” Atsumu muttered as Hinata placed a hand on Atsumu’s head, threading fingers through the blonde locks, “He…it’s complicated…”

“So complicated that you got sick over it?” Sakusa’s words were piercing but there was a thin sprinkling of worry coating each one.

“You wanna talk about it, Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto asked, a toothy grin on his face as he pointed a thumb at himself, “I’m a real good listener! And if you need it to be a secret, I’m the best secret keeper there is, you can rely on me!”

“I know, Bokkun,” Atsumu chuckled. For all that Bokuto was a boisterous oddball, Atsumu knew very well how reliable the man was, “It’s just…”

He thought he could tell them. He couldn’t say he thought they’d believe him, but at least he could tell them. But every time he tried the words refused to come out. Not even with Bokuto’s sincere promise, Hinata’s soothing fingers, or Sakusa’s cranky but genuine concern.

“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Hinata let out a sigh when Atsumu shook his head, “…Fine, we won’t push you then.”

“We won’t?” Bokuto wondered, head tilted.

“We won’t?” Sakusa raised an eyebrow.

“We won’t,” Hinata’s voice was firm. His hands moved to the sides of Atsumu’s face, tilting his head back so he could meet Hinata’s eyes, “But you’ll say something someday, won’t you, Atsumu-san?”

“…Yeah,” a peaceful wave of certainty washed over Atsumu, “When everything’s back to normal, I’ll tell ya.”

“I’d prefer if you’d tell me before then,” Hinata pouted, squishing Atsumu’s cheeks a couple times in annoyance.

“I know,” Atsumu whispered, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of content as Hinata leaned down and pressed their lips together in a comforting kiss, the warmth it brought spreading throughout his body.

What would happen first: Atsumu and Osamu figuring shit out themselves or Atsumu having another freak out and spilling everything to Hinata, no matter how stupid he’d probably sound? Only time would tell…

“Ugh, gross, after he went and puked too.”

“Screw you, Omi-kun, I rinsed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the notes I have for this fic, I have one specific bullet point that is basically me pointing out that Atsumu is having a bad time but Osamu is having a WORSE time. Well, to be fair, Atsumu isn't the fish out of temporal water in his half of the story.
> 
> Not too many research related notes in this one. There's more weather related stuff, which was the biggest pain in the ass imaginable. Yes, I know I don't have to research that much but as much as I complain about it I do sincerely enjoy doing absurd levels of research for little fic details. By the way, I don't know what happened the week of October 5th, 1995 but I could not find a scrap of weather related data for that time period. I had to research like ten years worth of Octobers in Amagasaki to try and get a clue for what the average weather was like.
> 
> Death anniversaries, known as meinichi in Japan. My initial draft had us going through the whole thing but I realized what I wanted didn't work too well with the research I did, so I basically skipped the actual death anniversary that takes place in shrines and did a lunch afterwards. It's definitely an interesting tradition, I recommend looking it up! By the by, I don't know what the status of Miya Papa is in canon, if you're actually alive in canon Miya Papa sorry for killing you off. Same to you Granny Miya!
> 
> By the way, you guys finally get to meet my OC version of Mama Miya: Miya Kamiko. If you read the end notes of the previous chapter I already talked about her so I won't say much here. I hope I got across her personality enough. She's a minor OC but I wanna show her some love. Also another guest mention of Hokkyo and Haiiro, my two other minor OCs. Still debating if either will actually properly show up. And I was happy to finally write Aran. Kita should be making his fic debut next chapter! As for the rest of Inarizaki, I'm still debating if they'll show up in the fic or just be name dropped here and there. But I enjoyed the little mentions of them I wrote so far!
> 
> Jan-ken-pon is simply Japanese rock-paper-scissors. The cookie recipe Atsumu uses in this fic is a fudge cookie recipe I found online. It looked really good and there were a bunch of positive reviews in the comments. If I get more time I wanna try making them myself! And I guess that's about it with research.
> 
> So we have some more plot movement. We get to learn more about the accident on Osamu's end. On Atsumu's end he's making some progress with future Osamu and we're getting some hints about what's going on with future Hinata. And the twins are all having a bad time. Next chapter will be the one I finally properly introduce the supernatural elements of the fic. I was supposed to do so this chapter but this chapter got way too long as it is.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please read and review, and see you guys in 2021~!!!


	3. Chains of Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! I had expected it to be out on Sunday but real life stuff got in the way. And when real life wasn't in the way, this chapter itself also got in its own way. I've rewritten this thing four separate times. On the plus side I think I can be confident in how long this story will be. But I'm not gonna say anything because I don't wanna jinx myself. Not that I'm not having fun writing this story, I'm having a lot of fun, I just like having an idea how long the story will end up being. Anyways, let's get on with the story, shall we?
> 
> Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Haikyuu or any of its characters.

This was everything Atsumu knew so far about this whole time travel swapping bullshit that had become his life.

One: The Osamu of 2019 and the Osamu of 2020 both swapped places at some point after Atsumu and Hinata separated from his Osamu the night of April 13th. Or, to be more specific, the very early morning of April 14th. He had no clue what could have caused the swap in the first place.

Two: Atsumu was supposed to be struck and killed by a drunk driver on the 14th but ended up avoiding the incident because of the swap.

Three: The future Osamu was still around despite Atsumu being alive, suggesting he was from an alternate future. Or that Atsumu’s accidental survival ended up creating a parallel timeline. Or something. He didn’t know, time travel was confusing.

Four: He had no clue how to switch future Osamu and his Osamu back to their proper timelines.

This was what future Osamu contributed to the discussion after Atsumu returned to his twin’s apartment following volleyball practice.

One: Fucking _nothing_.

“Are you kiddin’?” Atsumu had asked, plopping onto the couch as he stared at his alternate twin in exasperation, “You can’t remember _anything_ that was off? Not a single damn thing???”

“Yeah, Atsumu,” Osamu had sighed in return as he covered a plate piled high with the leftover cookies from the earlier impromptu baking session with plastic, “I don’t know what else to tell ya.”

What little Osamu did tell him really didn’t help. All he said was that he had gone to the roof that night, like he had been for around a week at that point. It was raining but that hadn’t stopped him. He remembered going to sleep and the next thing he knew he woke up in 2019. 

Okay, on second thought, there _was_ something Atsumu learned from future Osamu.

One: The door to the roof of Osamu’s apartment building was never locked. Atsumu made a mental note to have Osamu talk with the building’s owner once everything went back to normal. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

Two: Atsumu had some uncomfortable thoughts about why Osamu kept going to the roof. For a whole week, regardless of weather. He kept those thoughts to himself though. Whether it was because he didn’t expect Osamu to honestly tell him, Atsumu himself wasn’t ready to hear the answer, or some combination of both, he wasn’t sure.

As things currently stood, Atsumu hadn’t made any progress in undoing the swap and had nothing to work with.

But there had to be something! Atsumu had heard of wild crap like spontaneous human combustion. Had accidentally learned about it when he was seven and ended up in Osamu’s bed later that same night, crying about how he didn’t want to explode as his brother held him and reassured him that if he ever exploded Osamu would put him out right away. The childish incident being one of many stories in Osamu’s blackmail inventory. 

Spontaneous human combustion? Wild and mostly unknown, but real. Spontaneous time travel? No way. 

Either the future Osamu was holding back information for reasons unknown or he wasn’t properly remembering something. Or maybe both. Whatever the case, the time traveler wasn’t spilling the beans. And Atsumu wasn’t sure how hard he should push him for information. He wasn’t quite in sync with this Osamu, who changed following a devastating loss. He couldn’t fully read him.

…It was strange to see someone who was just like his brother in almost every way but felt like an actor. An actor who should know his role so well, should wear it like a second coat, and yet had lost the ease with which he performed his part. 

Could either of them truly lose that comforting, unquestionable familiarity that came with being twins so easily, after a mere year without the other?

It didn’t help matters when he saw all the other little ways they were no longer on the same page. Those first few hours they had met, when Osamu’s rebuttals would be nonexistent or a few seconds late, the late ones lacking the creativity and punch Osamu was known for biting back at him with. The awkward silences, where neither of them spoke not because they were comfortable not saying anything but rather that they couldn’t figure out what to say. That churning in Atsumu’s stomach that made him want to stay away from Osamu, that this was wrong, that this Osamu was an imposter. The way Osamu tried to avoid looking at him for too long, and how it rarely felt like he was _seeing_ Atsumu the times he did look.

It was more terrifying than Atsumu would ever be willing to admit.

After Atsumu had returned to Osamu’s apartment following practice, taking a shower and borrowing some of his brother’s clothes instead of doing the easy thing of stopping by his own apartment first because his brain was so hyper focused he hadn’t realized his error until he was already on the train, it had been late. Near Onigiri Miya’s closing time, to be exact. Which had reminded Atsumu…

“Alright, up and at ‘em!” he had clapped his hands twice to get Osamu’s attention after he’d exited the shower. Osamu had raised an eyebrow at the clearly familiar shirt and pants Atsumu wore but raised no complaint, much to Atsumu’s unexpected disappointment, “We’re goin’ to your restaurant!”

“Now?” Osamu had replied, glancing at the clock, “For what?”

“Uhh, in case ya forgot, _someone_ was an asshole extraordinaire to his poor newbie employee,” Atsumu had shot a pointed look at his brother, who flushed a little in response, “And I promised to get an apology outta you, so let’s go!”

“And it can’t wait for when I go to work tomorrow because…?”

“Cause I got morning practice tomorrow and I wanna see this in person!” Atsumu had snickered before he realized, “Wait, yer actually gonna work?”

“It’s not like the other me had a different job,” Osamu had said before adding in a mutter so low Atsumu nearly missed it, “…Don’t like stayin’ here longer than I have to.”

Which Atsumu hadn’t understood. Did future Osamu move somewhere else? What about the apartment was bothering him? Another question he probably would get answers to. Another question he didn’t even bother to ask.

And that in itself was a problem that was getting on Atsumu’s last nerve, even though he had no one to blame but himself. He would freely admit that he could, maybe once in a blue moon, be a motormouth. He wasn’t afraid to state his opinions, didn’t care if people ended up hating him for it. He had never minced words in his life, and had collected a lifetime’s worth of bruises and scars to prove it. 

So why were the words stuck in his throat whenever he wanted to ask Osamu something? Why couldn’t he just be as he usually was and open his damn mouth?

Why was this so hard?

It was similar to what was going on with Hinata. He was proud of him, he accepted he was leaving for Brazil, he trusted him. And yet…

 _And yet_ …

All the words Atsumu had to say, _wanted_ to say, turned to ash on his tongue. 

It sucked…He wasn’t used to feeling at a loss for words. Everything just _sucked_.

“Atsumu?”

Osamu’s voice knocked him out of his thoughts. His brother stared at him, brow furrowed slightly, but Atsumu had been quick to slap a smirk on his face. He distracted him by pushing Osamu to bring an apology gift, leading to them making use of the leftover cookies, and then bringing up the night of the swap, leading to the aforementioned fucking nothing he got out of the time traveler. 

They could have drove to Onigiri Miya. They could have taken a bus, like his Osamu usually did. But no, future Osamu insisted on walking and when he looked that tense Atsumu couldn’t find it within himself to argue.

…Atsumu wondered if it was just because of _him_ or if future Osamu was just like this around vehicles after that day.

But the walk to Onigiri Miya showed Atsumu yet another way the twins had lost their sync. When they walked together, they would usually be right by each other’s side, walking at the same pace with nearly identical strides, much to the annoyance of the poor saps that would get stuck waiting behind them.

“Yer always blocking the sidewalk, ya giants!” their mother had once complained since the pair took up the majority of the path with their combined size.

But Osamu didn’t seem to realize he was pulling ahead, his steps quicker as he got farther and farther away from Atsumu.

“Hey, slow down!” Atsumu called out after him, almost losing him in the rush of folks heading home from work.

Osamu stopped so suddenly a few people crashed into him. Of course with how big he was it did nothing to move him but earned him plenty of complaints and sour looks by the time Atsumu caught up.

“Sorry,” Osamu mumbled once they started walking again, seemingly making a conscious effort to match Atsumu’s steps.

He shouldn’t have to think about it. It should be second nature, like everything else about them. It came with growing up side by side, from the day they were born. He shouldn’t constantly apologize like this. It wasn’t like them. They’d yell it out, fight it out, play some game or cook together, and it would be out of mind.

“…Yeah,” was all Atsumu said instead.

They were silent for the rest of the walk to Onigiri Miya, Osamu probably because he was used to quiet walks in his time. Atsumu because he couldn’t figure out what to say. Not when Osamu made an obvious effort to stay between Atsumu and the road as they walked. Not even when Osamu held Atsumu’s elbow tightly at crosswalks, waiting for several seconds after the light turned green and long after others had already started crossing before letting the pair of them cross as well. The words wouldn’t come out.

“ _Fucking coward_ ,” he cursed under his breath.

“Hmm?” Osamu glanced over at him.

“Nothing.”

By the time they reached Onigiri Miya the restaurant was closed and empty except for Hitome wiping down the counter, Kijima counting the money in the register, and Ubara sweeping the floor. Atsumu felt none of the amusement he would have expected from watching Osamu stumbling over himself apologizing to Hitome for yelling at her. If it was his Osamu, maybe it would have been fun to watch, to even heckle him a little. But, like so much else with future Osamu, there was something too earnest and sad to it that it was hard to watch. Hitome seemed to agree with how quickly she waved off the apology, Ubara jumping in to forcefully turn the attention to the cookies. 

“You’ll be joinin’ us tomorrow, Boss?” Ubara asked through a mouthful of cookie.

“Ubara-kun, manners!” Kijima hissed, lightly slapping her coworker’s arm.

“ _Are_ you okay for tomorrow, Boss?” Hitome asked with a sunny smile on her face.

“If not, I can come in tomorrow, Boss,” Kijima said, concern in her voice as she glanced Osamu over.

“Nah, I’m fi-,” Osamu’s lips turned downwards for a moment so brief Atsumu was certain he was the only one to notice before looking at Hitome with a small smile, “I can handle it. Again, sorry for the trouble…”

“And thanks to you too, Miya-san!” Hitome chirped happily as she turned to Atsumu, Osamu going off with Ubara and Kijima to discuss what was on the agenda for the next day, “I’m glad Boss seems better than before.”

Was he? Had Atsumu even done anything?

“He probably won’t go off on ya again,” Atsumu shrugged, “If he does, I’ll yell at him somethin’ awful. Just…take it easy on him.”

“‘Take it easy’?” Hitome repeated, head tilted slightly.

“Don’t ask him too much. If he’s too quiet, don’t bring it up. Stuff like that.”

Hitome still seemed confused but nodded slowly, promising to pass on the message to Ubara and Kijima. There, that would probably be useful in keeping Osamu from accidentally revealing something that would raise suspicion. The rest would be up to Osamu keeping himself together during work. 

And Atsumu? Atsumu would have to continue going to volleyball practice and try and figure out this time travel mess, with or without the future Osamu’s help. 

An unusual bit of help showed up later that night though, when Atsumu had left to go back to his own apartment. He had been exhausted from the day’s events and his own brain going overboard trying to piece everything together. He ended up knocking out with little effort the second his head hit his pillow. 

And that was when the weird shit happened.

It was as if he was floating in nothingness. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel anything. Which was already weird enough, but he was too lost in the haze of sleep to really care that much.

Until the voice.

“Not yet.”

The weirdest thing was probably that he wasn’t _hearing_ the voice per say. He knew what it was saying, knew the kind of tone it was using, but there wasn’t any sound.

“Not yet.”

Not yet? What was it even talking about?

“He can’t come back yet.”

What did it mean by “he”?

“Not strong enough. Wait a little longer.”

Who wasn’t strong enough? Keep waiting for what? What was he supposed to be waiting for?

“…I’m sorry.” 

With that, Atsumu’s eyes snapped open as he sat up so quickly he felt dizzy for a moment. He put a hand to his forehead as he waited for the spinning to stop, only to flinch upon feeling how wet he was. 

His face, his body…He was soaked with sweat. 

He glanced at the time. A little after two in the morning. Atsumu fell back on the bed, his hands reaching up to cover his eyes.

“What the actual fuck?” he whispered into the night air. 

What the hell was that, a nightmare? But it wasn’t scary or even creepy. Maybe a little unsettling but Atsumu hadn’t felt afraid. More than anything he was confused.

What was the voice talking about? It said someone or something wasn’t strong enough, but for what? What did whatever the voice was referring to need to be stronger for? And the “he” that it mentioned. Could that possibly be referring to Osamu? It would make sense with the “not being able to come back” statement. But if it was about Osamu then _which_ one? And what did he have to wait for? Why did the voice apologize at the end? And, of course, the thing that bothered Atsumu the most.

Why was the voice familiar?

It was strange, it wasn’t like he actually heard what the voice sounded like despite knowing the words it spoke. But he knew it was familiar. Something inside, the same something that told him that Osamu was alright in the future he was stuck in, said that he knew the voice. Whoever had spoken to him in that dream, it was someone he knew _very_ well. But as for who, that was another question.

…Or maybe Atsumu was overthinking some weird as fuck stress dream his brain decided to cook up?

No, as tired as he was from the strange early morning wakeup call, he knew there was something more to it. After time travel, he may as well accept mysteriously familiar voices giving him vague warnings in dreams as reality.

Several hours later, after trying and failing to get any real rest, he debated telling Osamu about the dream. After all, other than a gut feeling he had no proof that the voice’s strange words were truly related to Osamu’s time travel situation. But maybe this would jog something in future Osamu’s memory. Atsumu grabbed his phone and called his brother’s number.

He waited…and waited… _and waited_ … 

“Nope,” Atsumu snapped as he cut the call and immediately switched to texting, “Not gonna wait again.”

_Hey!_

_HEY!!!!!!!_

_OSAMU!!!!!_

_O!!!_

_SA!!!_

_MU!!!_

_I know I’m not blocked anymore! Answer me!_

_I need to tell u something!!!_

_It’s super important!!!_

Just as Atsumu was about to send Osamu a message about how he heard a weird voice in his dream, and only didn’t because he realized he would probably sound like he lost it if he said it so bluntly, he saw the three drops indicating Osamu was typing.

_Busy today. Talk tomorrow._

Atsumu stared at the words blankly, eye twitching and fingers twitching even harder.

“The fuck!!!” he shouted, proceeding to type up a response to the curt text that was so unlike Osamu’s typical typing style.

_Tomorrow?_

_Why not now????_

_Why not after u get off work???_

_?????????_

Atsumu waited…and waited… _and waited_ …

_Busy._

_Tomorrow._

Atsumu scoffed and was about to respond before Osamu sent one more text.

_Please._

He paused, staring at the word. Just as with the constant apologizing, “please” was another thing that didn’t exist for the twins. Sure, it was there when they had to play nice for their mother or grandmother as kids, but it was never something they willingly used. If they wanted something from each other? They took it and dealt with whatever consequences came afterwards. If they needed the other to do something? It came out as a command, coupled with a kick or a shove, an insult or two for a little flavor. They’d end up squabbling so much that the task would either be forgotten or done together. Or, if the usual blackmail safely stored in their phones and memories were involved, done by one of them with a ton of grumbling.

Everything would usually be forgotten and forgiven before the day was over anyways. 

He paused and thought things through. It was only April 16th. As far as Osamu was concerned, he had woken up on the 14th to find himself in the past and had to deal with the ensuing mess of that bizarre reveal for that day. Then yesterday, the 15th, he had to deal with interacting with the brother who had been dead for a whole year in his time. 

It was a lot, maybe too much. If Atsumu had been in his shoes…

_Fine._

_Tomorrow._

_U better be grateful I’m such a nice brother!!!_

Atsumu waited as he saw those three dots appear once more, before they stopped, one more time, stopping again. Atsumu had a hunch what Osamu was gonna reply with. And it was yet another thing he shouldn’t have to say. It was rarely exchanged between the brothers because it was usually a given.

The whoosh of an incoming text came through. He glanced at the screen and sighed, because it was just what he was expecting to see. Another reminder of the difference between this Osamu and the one who Atsumu called his twin.

_Thank you._

~~~~~~~~

Just a few hours ago Osamu had wondered what he supposed to be like after mourning his brother. He wondered if maybe his acting now held a little more credibility.

He sat between his mother and Aran at one of the tables that had been set up in the backyard, slowly and quietly eating what was on his plate. Truth be told, it was a struggle to force each mouthful down his throat, the urge to heave it all back up increasing every time he tried to hurry up and shove it down so that everyone would stop looking at him. 

“Take yer time, Osamu,” Kamiko whispered to him, placing a hand against his arm and frowning when he froze for a moment at the contact, “…There’s no rush.”

There _was_ because Osamu didn’t want to stay any longer than he had to. His childhood home was supposed to be comforting, he should have felt safe and warm. But that damn article had changed everything. The old bedroom that was supposed to be his safe haven was now too constricting. It was as if he was suffocating every second he stayed there. He had pulled himself away from his mother’s hug, an embrace that should have made him feel better and initially had but only ended up reminding him of his own mother in another time, and fled the room with a halfhearted excuse that he couldn’t even remember. When he had reunited with Aran, the older man had asked him several questions, which Osamu couldn’t bring himself to answer because all he could think was that he wanted his time’s Aran to be here instead, before silently leading him away from all the stares so that he could _breathe_. For just a moment. 

He wanted to go home. 

Of course that thought had coursed through him the second he realized he was in another time. It echoed with each new reveal: that it was a year into the future, that Atsumu was dead, that Atsumu had died saving him, that his other self had changed in ways Osamu couldn’t understand. Or, rather, that he _hadn’t_ understood until he had read that article. He still couldn’t, and probably never would, be able to fully understand everything his future self had gone through in the year since that goddamn day. But if the emotions pulsing through him in that moment were even a fraction of what his alternate self felt, he didn’t want to understand. 

_He just wanted to go home_. 

“Osamu-kun.”

He raised his head slightly and looked down the table at the relative who spoke, who he was kinda sure was his mother’s cousin or something. He couldn’t even recall what her name started with.

“It really is a pleasure to see ya again, dear!” the woman told him in an obnoxiously sweet voice, “I’ve heard you been keepin’ to yourself since last year.”

“…I guess,” Osamu mumbled in response.

That was probably right. It would make sense with the other bits of information he managed to collect on his other self. 

“Still a bit quiet I see though,” she continued on, shaking her head as if it was such a shame, “You always had been quieter than yer brother.”

“Miko-san,” Kamiko said in a warning tone.

“Now, I don’t mean anything bad by it, Kamiko! Dear Atsumu-kun, rest his soul, always was the more… _vocal_ of the twins.”

The pounding at the back of Osamu’s head returned with a vengeance. 

“Wasn’t all that quiet at the funeral though, was he?” an older man, someone’s uncle or whatever, piped up. Osamu stared blankly in the man’s direction, eye twitching and fingers twitching even harder, “Made a scene, didn’t ya, with all that shouting and startin’ a fight of all things?”

“To be fair, his emotions were runnin’ high that day,” the woman, Miko, said with the fakest sympathy Osamu had ever heard, “But still it is a shame Junpei-kun and his parents refused to come today just because of that.”

“Can’t blame ‘em. Junpei had to be hospitalized for a week because the boy couldn’t hold his temper. Yer lucky they were kind enough not to sue ya, Kamiko-chan, with everything else you had going on then.”

“Excuse me!” Kamiko hissed but Osamu reacted first.

His fists connected with the table. _Hard_. The table and every dish and cup that rested on it shook with the force of the impact. 

He relished for a moment in the way all those distant family members he never gave a shit about flinched in response, both from his hands and from the way he suddenly stood. He opened his mouth, wanting to yell something at them. Anything. Whatever it took to shut them up.

But the words turned to ash on his tongue.

The pulse in his head was getting worse.

“Osamu,” Aran said, making a move to stand as well when Osamu was quiet for a moment too long.

“Sweetheart?” Kamiko reached a hand out towards him.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Osamu managed to choke out before he shoved himself away from the table and stormed towards the house. 

As he stepped through the door, he heard the chaos he left behind in the yard.

“Everyone always said he was the calm one…But he’s just as hotheaded as ever, isn’t he?”

“Oh, _isn’t he_? Why don’t ya just bring up dear old Junpei-kun again!”

The bitingly cold fury in his mother’s voice sent a chill down Osamu’s spine, even though it wasn’t directed at him.

“Now, Kamiko-chan…”

“After all, it’d be _such_ a pleasure having him join us today! Why, maybe he can go ahead and tell everyone how _my son deserved to be killed again_!!!”

“Kamiko-”

“ _No_! All of ya are gonna shut yer mouths and listen to _me_ for a change!”

Kamiko’s yelling wasn’t that loud but considering how her usual way of speaking to even the most difficult of relatives was redirecting the conversation or coldly shutting down their words she may as well have been screaming through a megaphone.

…Osamu instantly regretted his actions. He was leaving his mother to deal with all of that alone. His mother who had faced the loss of her husband, her mother, and now one of her own children. His mother who had always stayed strong, only ever allowing the pain and stress she felt to hit her when she was certain no one else would see. 

What was he doing, adding to her stress and then leaving her to clean up his mess?

He started to turn so he could head back and support his mother, only for an arm to circle his shoulders and push him back into the house.

“It’s alright, Osamu,” Aran’s gentle voice said, arm tight around Osamu, “Yer mom is handling things just fine back there. And _you_ need time to cool off.”

“But-”

“I’m telling ya, I think she’s been waiting for the chance to snap at them.”

Osamu took a moment to glance over his shoulder at his mother. Kamiko’s lecture was going strong, her fists clenched tightly at her sides as she looked from one relative to the next, giving them all what was probably the dressing down of the century.

A memory struck Osamu at the sight, from back when he and Atsumu were eight years old. Atsumu had been as unpopular as ever at school, especially since he had begun letting go of his crybaby self to become the sharp-tongued little asshole who didn’t care what others thought of him. The other kids who had either teased him for his tears or simply considered him too annoying to hang out with backed off with Atsumu’s newfound confidence…

…Only to be replaced by other kids who either outright ignored him, hated his guts, or bullied him worse to try and get some kind of reaction out of him.

But Osamu was usually by Atsumu’s side, so they never took it too far. They all knew how terrifying Osamu was in a fight.

“I’m a good fighter too!” Atsumu had once huffed after the twins had one of their usual scuffles, ending in another loss for Atsumu.

“Not as good as me!” Osamu had shot back, flicking his brother’s forehead.

Osamu always had been just a little taller, a little bulkier, a little stronger than his twin.

“Cause I’m older!” Osamu had always said so smugly as a child.

“That doesn’t count, stupid, we’re twins!” Atsumu would pout as usual, his cheeks puffed out.

It had happened one day at school. Osamu and Atsumu had gotten into yet another petty squabble and had been ignoring each other. It had continued even into recess, the twins sticking their tongues out at each other before running off to opposite ends of the schoolyard. Osamu recalled his younger self confidently thinking Atsumu would come running back to him to apologize soon enough, since Atsumu didn’t have any friends to hang out with at school. 

And then he had heard Atsumu crying.

It was like instinct how quickly his younger self had sprinted in the direction of the cries, panic spreading through his veins.

He saw a fifth grader laughing mockingly as he stood over Atsumu, who was on the ground holding his wrist to his chest, fat tears streaming down his face.

As if a switch was flipped, Osamu saw red. 

The next thing he knew, a teacher was grabbing him and pulling him off the fifth grader, who was lying on the ground, a hand clutching his bleeding nose as he cried, Osamu’s fists sore from the force of his punches. Another teacher was guiding Atsumu away as well, his brother somewhat resisting as he kept looking back over at Osamu.

The results were Atsumu’s wrist being fractured and the twins and the fifth grader all facing a few days of suspension. Osamu and Atsumu had argued about it, saying how the older boy had started it, how there were plenty of other kids who saw everything and could back them up. That even if Osamu got punished, Atsumu didn’t do anything to deserve getting suspended too. But they were too young and too infamously wild for their words to be taken seriously by the staff.

But that was what Miya Kamiko was for.

She had been there standing next to her twins as the principal outlined the consequences the boys faced, having already spoken to the other boy’s family a few minutes earlier. At the end of the speech, Kamiko had gently asked the twins to wait in the hall for a little while.

The second Osamu and Atsumu had left the room, door shutting behind them, they instantly pressed themselves against the door to listen in on the muffled conversation happening inside.

And then Kamiko started yelling.

Long story short, while Osamu was suspended for a couple days because he _did_ punch the other boy, Atsumu rightfully escaped any punishment. For years afterwards the twins’ old elementary school principal would all but run away whenever he spotted the boys. And if he ever saw Kamiko, he would trip over his own tongue trying to escape any conversation with her, Kamiko pulling off a convincing act of being blissfully unaware of what the man was so scared of. 

But the one part of that memory that stuck out the most for Osamu was his mother’s face when she exited the room after yelling her lungs out at the principal, the twins jogging to keep up with her as she marched down the halls. Osamu saw the curved indents on her palms from where her nails had dug in deep. Her hands trembled so slightly. She was chewing on her bottom lip.

But her eyes, those same eyes she passed on to Osamu and Atsumu. They _burned_. The fire of someone who was in their element. The same fire he would see in Atsumu’s eyes in the years to come as he found a new volleyball move to add to his every growing arsenal and practiced, practiced, _practiced_ until it had been perfected. The same fire he was sure burned in his own eyes when he had to struggle as a man with no connections in the food industry and not a lot of money to work with but unstoppable in his quest to build his restaurant. 

That same fire that, even from this distance, he could see in Kamiko’s eyes as she glared down her relatives. 

“Yeah,” Osamu sighed, corners of his lips tilting upwards just a bit, “Let’s let her have her fun.”

Osamu and Aran walked to the living room, taking a seat on the couch, Osamu dropping his head into his hands as he took slow, deep breaths.

“…Sorry, Osamu,” Aran said after a moment, “I shouldn’t have said anythin’, I should’ve-”

“Nah, don’t blame yourself,” Osamu sat up, pressing his back against the back of the couch as he stared up at the ceiling, “I…I wanted to know. I’m glad I do.”

Maybe “glad” wasn’t the right word but he wanted to understand this world and he got some answers. He should’ve braced himself better. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know Atsumu was dead, he should have been prepared for anything.

“Did I really make that big of a mess at the funeral?” he asked. He quickly added, “I mean, I don’t remember doin’ anything as bad as the fight.”

Osamu probably should care more about keeping up his act, but he found that exhaustion over his situation was winning out. 

“Honestly, you were keepin’ to yourself,” Aran replied, “Wouldn’t speak to anyone, wouldn’t look at anyone. Just stayed in yer seat. Almost thought ya wouldn’t go to-”

Aran cut himself off with an abrupt cough. Osamu wondered if perhaps he was about to say his other self almost didn’t go to the crematorium.

The bitter taste of bile burned his tongue at the thought of Atsumu’s cremation, at the idea of watching his twin’s body on that tray, slowly sliding into that fire. The idea of him and his mother carefully picking out the bones to place in the urn with the ashes.

Had Atsumu’s urn already been taken to the Miya family grave? He didn’t see any urn in the living room. Was he buried alongside his father? Had his other self ever bothered to visit? Or had Atsumu’s grave been ignored, erased from the other Osamu’s mind just as every other trace of his twin was removed from that apartment. 

“I’m leaving,” Osamu announced as he stood up abruptly, taking one shaky breath after another.

He couldn’t stay anymore. He couldn’t, _he couldn’t_. 

“Will ya be alright to travel?” Aran asked worriedly as he followed Osamu to the entrance, where Osamu put on his jacket with trembling hands.

Osamu only nodded, not trusting himself to be able to open his mouth without throwing up. 

“…Want me to tell yer mom for you?”

That made Osamu pause as he put on his shoes. Was it alright, to leave without saying anything to his mother, or rather to this alternate version of his mother?

He avoided having to decide that when a familiar voice called out from just down the hall.

“Osamu.”

Kamiko slowly stepped towards him. Osamu’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to say, how to apologize, only to blank when Kamiko reached up and cupped his face with her hands.

“Next year,” she cleared her throat, eyes blinking rapidly for a moment before she smiled and continued, “Next year, how about we make it just the two of us? I think Atsumu would be happier with that too, right?”

She turned her head towards Aran.

“Ahh, but Aran-kun is a special exception! If yer in town next year, feel free to come along!”

“I’d be happy too,” Aran responded with a soft chuckle.

“Sound alright to you, Osamu?”

…He shouldn’t respond because it wasn’t his place to. This should be for the other Osamu to decide. If he decided one way or another, either his other self or Kamiko and Aran would be hurt. 

But…

“I think it’s a good idea,” Osamu muttered, placing his own hands atop Kamiko’s for a moment.

And maybe his other self would agree when all this was over. Or maybe he would be furious at Osamu for making the call for him.

The answer to that could be considered another day.

After saying his goodbyes to Kamiko and Aran, Osamu managed to make it home without collapsing or throwing up, so he could consider that a small victory. But the main issue was still there.

As things currently stood, Osamu hadn’t made any progress in undoing the swap and had nothing to work with.

He sighed as he entered the apartment, racking his brain for anything that could be a clue, when he heard a distant ring.

…A cellphone’s ringtone?

Osamu pulled his phone out of his pocket. Nope, that wasn’t it. Besides, the music sounded muffled, like it was coming from somewhere far away. And it wasn’t his. But, actually, wasn’t it kinda familiar to-?

It clicked.

That ringtone. That stupid song.

Wasn’t that his brother’s?

There should have been at least a dozen questions running through his mind. But his thoughts cleared out except for one command.

Find. That. Phone.

As the ringtone played on, a dumb song from an old cartoon Atsumu loved that Osamu had always considered obnoxious but was now a godsend, Osamu eventually managed to pinpoint it to the bedroom. Specifically, the closet. Just as he opened the door, it stopped.

“ _For fuck’s sake_!!!” he snarled as he pulled out jackets and shirts, rooting through the pockets for the phone, desperately hoping it would ring one more time. 

The ringtone never did play again, Osamu’s desperation morphing into frustration as the closet grew emptier with no signs of the device. Just as he was beginning to wonder if maybe he really had lost it and simply imagined the music, he saw it.

A strange pile of what looked like old clothes and blankets pushed all the way to the back of the closet. Underneath the pile, peaking through a small gap, was what looked like a box. 

Osamu held his breath as he tugged the box out of the closet.

And let it out in a choked laugh as he saw what was inside.

The pictures missing from the walls and shelves. A familiar volleyball. Other little trinkets he hadn’t even realized weren’t in their spaces but he now remembered were gifts Atsumu had given him over the years.

And on top of the pile was a single, very familiar cellphone.

…A familiar cellphone with a massive crack on its screen and dark brown, almost black, flecks all over it. 

Osamu swallowed, the implications of the brown very clear to him, as he picked up the phone. Only to realize it was dead.

But he had heard it ringing. There was no way he’d ever mistake that stupid song Atsumu used!

“Oh great, I _am_ losing it,” Osamu groaned.

…But he’d heard it so clearly. And for so long.

Osamu found his charger and plugged the phone in, waiting for it to start up again. After what felt like a lifetime, he saw the screen to enter the passcode. And while the cracked screen made it difficult for the phone to register his inputs, he finally managed to put in the password and unlock it.

Really, for all the creativity Atsumu showed when he was on the court, all he could come up with for a password was the twins’ birthday?

Osamu struggled as he looked through the phone, the cracks on the screen and his avoiding the dark brown spots making the phone slow to respond. But according to the recent calls list, no one had called the phone today. And it quickly became obvious the phone was no longer in service. So Osamu had definitely heard his brother’s phone ring, only for said phone to be dead and then show that no one has called it, or would have been able to call it, since a year ago.

That “losing it” theory was starting to look more and more plausible…

Just as he was about to shut it off, he noticed the alert for several unread messages. He managed to get into the list of messages and saw they were all from one person.

Hinata Shouyou.

And Osamu felt like an idiot. 

He hadn’t even thought of Hinata once since he’d realized he was in another time. Granted, he was preoccupied in more ways than one, but not one time did he wonder about the Shouyou of this time and what he must have went through in the past year.

He shouldn’t read the messages. Those messages were for Atsumu. But, maybe, there could be a clue for how to get home somewhere in there? Mentally apologizing to Hinata and Atsumu both, Osamu clicked the messages.

Only to be punched in the gut by a photo of him and Atsumu he didn’t recognize. From the looks of it, Atsumu had jumped on his other self’s back and quickly snapped a selfie, the image blurry and the pair looking like they were about to fall over. Atsumu wore a mischievous grin on his face while Osamu’s face could be described as a mixture of annoyance and surprise. 

…He realized, by the date on the bottom, the photo must have been taken on the trip his other self and the other Atsumu took into the city on the 14th. 

He quickly scrolled down and began to read Hinata’s texts. 

_Atsumu-san!!!!!!_

_Sorry for the late reply I was busy at practice._

_You and Osamu-san are having tons of fun right?_

_Ugh! So jealous!_

_Next time we’re free I’m taking you on a trip!_

_We haven’t had a date in AGES! UGH!!!!!!_

_Tell me if you have any ideas okay? I’ll make it SUPER romantic._

_Prepare to be swept off your feet!!!!_

_Hey Atsumu-san! You haven’t replied yet!_

_Aren’t you home yet?_

_Oops maybe you’re tired? Sorry!_

_Atsumu-san it’s been hours. Something wrong?_

_Did you and Osamu-san have a fight?_

_Hey._

_Are you ignoring me???_

_Atsumu-san._

_Atsumu-san._

_Atsumu-san._

_Answer me._

_Hey._

_Respond already!_

_Atsumu-san._

_I’m worried._

_You’re not answering my calls._

_Osamu-san isn’t responding either!_

_Bokuto-san and Omi-san say they haven’t heard from you all day._

_Same with the rest of the team._

_?????_

_Fine._

_You know what?_

_I’m calling your mom!_

The texts ended there, several hours after the incident with the drunk driver would have occurred. He wondered what was going through Hinata’s mind over those hours. Thinking his boyfriend and said boyfriend’s brother were just on a normal trip. Waiting for a response to a normal old text. Waiting for a call when his texts weren’t answered. Waited for someone, _anyone_ , to tell him what was going on.

He must have waited so long…And waited… _And waited_ … 

“Goddamnit,” he whispered as he left Atsumu’s phone where it was still charging.

He pulled out his own phone and went to Hinata’s contact. Maybe this was a bad idea. But he wanted to know how the Hinata of this timeline was doing. Not even bothering to try and figure out what time it was in Brazil, he called Hinata’s number.

Only for it to immediately go to voicemail. 

…What?

He tried a couple more calls, all ending the same way. He looked up the time in Brazil. It was early morning, and Hinata was always an early riser. And he never left his phone off. He went to his messages and sent a couple texts to Hinata.

He waited…And waited… _And waited_ …

Was…Was he blocked? Hinata _blocked_ him? Since when? And why?

Just what had his other self been doing all this time?

Another question he didn’t need. Osamu instead decided to look up videos of Hinata’s volleyball career in Brazil, to see if he could figure anything out from that. 

Hinata was incredible, as was expected. His performance was consistent across nearly all his matches. He seemed to be even faster than he was with the Black Jackals. And his emergency sets had improved tremendously, Atsumu would be proud.

But two games caught his attention. One from early October, another from just last week that seemed to be the last one of the season.

It’s not that Hinata was terrible in those games. But he was clearly off. His receives weren’t all as solid as usual. Sometimes his sets were off. His spikes were blocked more often. And every time the team took a timeout or Hinata was swapped out, the frustration on his face grew more pronounced. 

Sometimes volleyball players had bad days, it happened even to the cream of the crop. 

But Osamu wasn’t an idiot. The dates those two games occurred explained plenty. 

His heart ached for the Hinata of this time. But if he really was blocked, Osamu couldn’t do much about it. Not like he had spare time to travel to Brazil and search for Hinata to try and figure things out. And who knew if he’d even be welcome, he didn’t know what went down between this Hinata and the other Osamu. 

Osamu let out a loud groan of exhaustion. More and more questions and no useful answers to be found.

Whatever idea Osamu’s brain was gonna cook up next went out the window when a sudden loud bang rang through the apartment. Osamu flinched and let out a shout at the noise, racing out of the bedroom and into the living room, where it had come from. 

All he could see was one of his large cookbooks laying on the floor, underneath a window. Except he could have sworn the book was on the shelf last time he checked. How did it cross the room and end up under the window, of all places? And even if the book was as big as it was, could it really have caused such a loud noise???

Osamu’s heart raced, from the lingering surprise of the bang and from the sheer confusion he felt between this and the earlier incident with the phone ringing, as he went over to the book and picked it up. As he stood up, he happened to glance out the window.

And froze.

This window happened to face the street. And the nearby streetlights lit up the area nicely. Meaning there was no mistaking it.

There, across the street from the apartment complex, sitting on a bicycle and staring in the direction of the building, was Hinata Shouyou.

…What???

Osamu remembered that last game of Hinata’s he had just watched was the last of the season. So what, had Hinata returned to Japan for the offseason? But he couldn’t recall Hinata ever saying he did something like that during the years he had first lived in Brazil. And why was he outside Osamu’s apartment building?

And what the fuck was Osamu doing wasting time just staring like an idiot?

Not even bothering to grab a jacket or his shoes, he ran out of his apartment and practically flew down the stairs. He burst through the front door of the building just as he saw Hinata beginning to pedal away on his bicycle.

“Shouyou-kun!” he shouted.

His shout must have startled the other man badly, Hinata nearly falling off his bicycle. He managed to steady himself as his head whipped in Osamu’s direction. Whatever Osamu was about to say next lodged itself in his throat. 

Because, even from across the street, the panicked expression on Hinata’s pale face was clear as day. 

Hinata didn’t even respond to Osamu’s shout, turning his head away and pedaling faster than Osamu had ever seen him ride his bicycle before. 

Leaving Osamu behind with even more questions to deal with. 

~~~~~~~~

“Not yet. Not yet.”

Not yet?

“I can’t bring him back yet. I’m not strong enough.”

Strong enough to do what?

“I didn’t mean it.”

Didn’t mean to do what? Why couldn’t it say anything clearly for once?

“It’s hard! It takes a lot of strength to do this!”

To do what? To talk?

“Yeah! I can’t keep wasting power like this!”

What the hell did that even mean?

“Gotta save as much as I can! To bring him…To bring _both of them_ back!”

Both? It had to be referring to Osamu. So it could bring future Osamu back to his timeline? And bring his Osamu home?

“Need more time. Keep waiting.”

How long???

“…Don’t know…But until then…help him…”

Atsumu startled awake with a gasp. As he took one shuddering breath after another, he felt his forehead.

Yup, covered in sweat.

A glance at the clock showed it was just after two in the morning. Well, at least it seemed the mysterious voice was keeping to some kind of schedule. 

Atsumu still couldn’t hear the voice but its sentences were a lot clearer. Maybe a sign that it was getting stronger? And Atsumu now had a few more concrete answers. The voice was apparently certain it could bring future Osamu and present Osamu back to their appropriate timeline. And it needed to gain a lot more power to do so. And that line about it “not meaning it”. Was it saying that it was the one who caused the swap in the first place? Why? And talking to Atsumu in his dreams wasted power, so why did it keep doing it? 

_“But until then…help him…”_

Help future Osamu? The voice couldn’t be referring to anyone else. And if it wanted Atsumu to help Osamu, it probably wasn’t a bad voice. No, Atsumu was certain of it. He never did have Osamu’s knack for reading people other than Osamu himself, but his gut was pretty reliable. And said gut told him the mysterious voice wasn’t lying to him. 

But, first and foremost, he had to talk with the future Osamu about this weird voice in his dreams.

Once again he couldn’t get back to sleep after the encounter with the voice. So he waited until he knew Osamu would usually get up and then called his number, Osamu thankfully answering the call with a groggy voice.

“Atsumu, what are-?”

“I’ve been hearin’ a voice in my dreams.”

A beat of silence. Then another. 

“…You _what_?” Osamu asked, all traces of sleep gone from his voice, replaced by nothing but confusion. 

Okay, maybe that was a terrible way to open the conversation. But to be fair, he wasn’t running on a lot of sleep. And at least he got Osamu’s attention. 

“Listen, Osamu, I need ya to hear me out, from start to finish, got it?” Atsumu told him, “No interruptions or anything. Just. _Listen_.”

After prying a promise out of the baffled Osamu, Atsumu explained everything about the two times the voice came to him in his dreams. Osamu, to his credit, kept his promise and didn’t make a peep the entire time. 

“Alright, the floor’s all yours!” Atsumu concluded his explanation, waiting for Osamu’s input.

“…Yer serious?”

Goddamnit, future Osamu. 

“If you accept fucking time travel, of all things, but draw the line at hearing voices in yer dreams, I’m gonna-”

“Okay, okay,” Osamu cut Atsumu’s rant off before it gained steam, “Yeah, it’s not the kind of thing you’d screw around about.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Atsumu grumbled as he reclined on the bed, “So?”

“So what?”

“Ringing any bells?” Atsumu tried to tone back the exasperation, “Any of it jogging a memory or two?”

“Not one bit,” Osamu responded with a sigh.

“…Ya know, you could _try_ to sound a little interested in what’s going on,” Atsumu said, “I mean, this is the only useful information we’ve got to work with.”

“I _am_ interested. I’m just tired, that’s all. Ya called right when I woke up.”

Okay, maybe he had a point there.

“Yer the one who promised to talk to me today,” Atsumu told him, Osamu only letting out a sigh in response, “…Okay, so the voice isn’t doing anything for ya, but anything else? You don’t remember _any_ weird shit going on before you swapped with Samu?”

“I told ya, I…”

Atsumu perked up when Osamu didn’t finish his sentence, voice trailing off. He waited for a few moments to see what Osamu would tell him.

“It’s nothing.”

What?

“Uhh, didn’t sound like nothin’ to me,” Atsumu said, gripping the phone in his hand tightly, “What happened?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Osamu. _Time travel_ , remember? Nothing’s off the table.”

Another pause, one that lasted so long that Atsumu checked to make sure the call was still connected.

“Weird stuff has happened at my apartment for the past month,” Osamu finally admitted.

“Weird how?”

“It’s just my mind fuckin’ with me, I haven’t slept right in a while. And I know the building’s had some problems with-”

“ _Weird how_?” Atsumu repeated.

“…Things not being where they’re supposed to be, loud noises, strange chills, some of my stuff acting weird. It isn’t all the time, but often enough. And…”

“…And?”

“Nothing.”

What, this again?

“C’mon, Osamu, I know it’s not-”

“ _Drop it_.”

Atsumu frowned at the hint of a warning to Osamu’s voice. He remembered a similar moment the day they met, when Atsumu brought up Osamu’s strange aggression during that phone call on the 14th. He had backed off then. But now…

“And what, Osamu?” he pushed instead, not even sure if this was the right call to make. 

“ _Atsumu_.”

“ _Osamu_.”

A beat. Two. Three. Four.

“I thought I saw _you_ , okay?”

“You…what?”

Okay, not what he had expected. 

“Ya heard me,” Osamu snapped at him, “It happened one night, around a week before the swap. But it was just my mind fucking with me, got it?”

Atsumu didn’t respond because he was too busy thinking over the new bit of information. Strange noises, moving objects, chills. A sudden vision that resembled Atsumu, appearing a week before future Osamu time traveled. Osamu also mentioned going to the roof for around a week by the time the swap happened.

A distant memory of one of his grandmother’s old stories was echoing in the depths of his mind.

“…Say, Osamu,” Atsumu spoke slowly, with more care than he’d probably ever put into anything he’d said before, “Do ya remember that time in middle school, when Grams told us about yurei?”

If Osamu remembered or not, Atsumu didn’t get to find out. Because the noise of the dial tone filled his ear instead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he shouted as he went to his messages.

…Only to figure out he had been blocked yet again.

“ _Goddamnit, Osamu_!”

~~~~~~~~

Osamu couldn’t bring himself to chase after Hinata that night. He was still blocked, so he had no way to contact him. He remembered Hinata’s address so assuming he was renting in the same building again he could go over there and confront him directly. But after seeing Hinata’s expression, Osamu knew that would be a disaster in the making.

But Hinata had rode over to where Osamu’s apartment was. Wasn’t that a hint that he wanted to talk? But he had fled so quickly once he’d seen Osamu, not even saying a word to him.

Those thoughts and others had filled his head until he finally fell asleep that night. Maybe the full weight of everything that had happened finally hit his body, because it was probably the best sleep he had in months. 

Everything that happened the next day was like clockwork, as if his body was on autopilot.

He got up when he was supposed to. He got ready for work. He arrived at Onigiri Miya on time, shaking off the worry his employees threw his way. He helped everyone to make more than enough fresh onigiri to tide over the morning rush. And easily welcomed in customer after customer, easily tiptoeing around the concerned questions of the regulars. 

Yeah, work was the easy part. Because other than those little changes, it was the same job. The same job he built from the ground up. That he put all his work, all his passion into. 

It was probably the one sincere comfort he could take from being stuck in another time with far too many questions and too few answers. That the job he loved with all his heart was still here, still thriving. 

And yet not even that familiar comfort could stop the dread that filled him when he returned to his apartment later that night. The other Osamu’s apartment.

He had considered putting the old pictures and stuff he had found in the closet back where they were supposed to be, to make the place feel more like the home he knew. But each time he was about to, he reminded himself that this wasn’t his life, not his time.

Returning the memories was the other Osamu’s final decision in the end. 

So where did that leave Osamu? No progress made, no idea where to go from there.

Nothing.

The familiar melody of his ringtone filled the air. Osamu pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, eyes widening at the name.

Kita.

“Hello?” he answered, “Kita-san?”

“Evenin’, Osamu,” Kita’s calm voice filled his ears, “I was hoping you’d pick up.”

A simple sentence that made Osamu imagine how often Kita’s past calls had been ignored. He wondered how gutsy his other self actually was to actually avoid calls from _Kita_ , of all people. Sure, the older man was no longer his captain. And yeah, Osamu had slowly realized Kita was a lot more normal and friendly than the calm and blunt high school student that struck fear into the hearts of the volleyball team.

But some old habits never died.

Osamu and Kita exchanged a round of small talk, talking about what was going on in each other’s lives, Osamu taking care to avoid as much as he could. But it was relaxing. Osamu could feel his shoulders drop, the tension slowly releasing itself from his body. 

“My,” Kita began after Osamu laughed over a story about some of the ducklings on Kita’s farm, “Aran was right. You _have_ changed, Osamu.”

Well, so much for the tension going away.

“That right?” he replied, foot tapping on the floor.

“Oh, sorry about that, you must be getting that a bunch,” Kita answered, “…I’m thinking yer getting tired of hearing that, aren’t ya?”

…Maybe he was.

“So Aran-kun told ya about me?” Osamu asked instead.

“Nothing bad, rest assured. Just said that you looked like ya needed some advice, and that I’d probably be the best for the job. Told him I didn’t know what _I_ could do for you that he couldn’t.”

“Yeah, but you’ve always had a way with words, Kita-san,” Osamu chuckled, “Remember when ya graduated and the rest of the team got together to give you our ‘Top Ten Kita-san Speeches’ list?”

Kita let out a short bark of laughter at that.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember that alright,” Kita’s tone returned to its usual elegant calm as he added, “Alright, I’m all ears. What’s botherin’ ya, Osamu?”

What wasn’t bothering him? How much could he tell Kita without giving himself away? Osamu knew he wasn’t a great liar. And even if he was, Kita was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out bullshit. He could count the number of times he and Atsumu got away with anything under Kita’s watch on one hand. And he’d still have fingers left over.

So he’d simply have to do the next best thing. Tell as much of the truth as he could.

“Honestly? I thought I could handle going to the death anniversary yesterday. It was…It was like the me of the past year was another person. And the me of yesterday was someone different, someone who could take whatever came his way. I mean, how bad could it be, right?”

“Pretty damn bad?” Kita suggested.

“Yeah, pretty fucking bad,” he took a deep breath, “I went there knowin’ my brother was gone. Of course I knew. But it was like the reality of it didn’t hit until I got there.”

Atsumu was dead.

Because Osamu just happened to be in the way of that car.

His mind went back to that article. He couldn’t help but wonder what the other Osamu felt at that moment, the second the other Atsumu pushed him out of the way. 

“Ya underestimated how ready you were for a big step,” Kita told him, “Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes grieving means making mistakes as much as it means movin’ forward.”

But was it even his grief to feel? He knew _his_ Atsumu was still safe. Whenever he figured out how to go home, it’d be to the same life he left behind. 

“And I think yer lookin’ at it wrong, thinking of the you of now and the you of the past as different people,” Kita continued, as if he was a mind reader, “Maybe you act different, handle the same thing differently, and all that. Maybe you compare yer past self to who you are now and can’t see how they can be anything but separate people.”

“But, at the end of the day, that’s still all you. The you who couldn’t handle the death anniversary, the you who has been avoidin’ all of us since the funeral, the you who’s speaking to me right now about something that isn’t work for the first time in months. Every bit of it is still you. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Doesn’t have to be a bad thing, does it? Could he say that the other Osamu and he were the same?

…Maybe so. They were probably exactly the same before April 14th. Their paths simply diverged that day. Osamu could have easily become like his alternate self, just as his alternate self could have become him. 

Maybe accepting they were both more similar than he realized, than he even wanted, was a step he needed to take to find his way home. 

“Ya know, Kita-san, I think you got yourself a challenger for that top ten speeches list,” Osamu said after a lengthy silence.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kita chuckled, “…And, for what it’s worth, I’m sure Atsumu is proud of whatever progress you’re making, even if it’s small.”

“Are you kidding? He’s probably cursing me out from the afterlife for being a pathetic dick.”

“That…Huh, that does sound like him, doesn’t it?”

Osamu let out a snort of laughter, only to flinch when a book suddenly fell off a nearby shelf, landing on the ground with a resounding bang.

“Sheesh, forget the afterlife,” Osamu muttered, heart thumping a little faster than usual as he retrieved the book, “He might just be haunting me or something. Then again, if he was, he probably would’ve gotten my ass killed by now, the shit.”

“Don’t say that,” Kita responded with another chuckle, “Atsumu would never become a _dangerous_ yurei. I would hope he’d never become a yurei at all but…”

Osamu tuned Kita out as he began to dig through his memories. It was supposed to be a stupid joke. But that word. He had definitely heard it somewhere before.

It must have been one his grandmother’s old stories about spirits. Osamu remembered some of the scarier tales but most of the others had been forgotten since he never cared much for supernatural stuff. Not like Atsumu, who had all those stories memorized and could probably recite any of them at the drop of a hat if need be.

“Yurei are spirits who can’t move on to the afterlife,” Osamu said slowly, more to himself than Kita, “Because…Because there’s something they wanna accomplish, right?”

“For the most part,” Kita replied, “From what I remember Grandma tellin’ me, there’s all sorts of them. Some of them don’t have any real purpose they want fulfilled. But there are plenty of others who have all sorts of wishes they want fulfilled so they can move on in peace.”

That’s right, now it was coming back to Osamu. 

Vengeful ghosts who wished for the ones who wronged them to be slain. Children taken too young who were more little troublemakers than they were dangerous. Mothers separated from their children, longing to be with them again.

Yurei were formed when a person’s death was disturbed by some kind of emotion, usually a powerful one.

Hatred, love, revenge, jealousy, regret.

 _Regret_.

Osamu looked at the book in his hand, which seemed to fall of its own accord. He remembered Atsumu’s phone ringing even though it was dead by the time he found it and hadn’t even been in service. He remembered another book that somehow made its way to where the window was, the window through which he spotted Hinata.

Osamu had never been the superstitious type. And yet…

 _And yet_ …

“Kita-san? Could you tell me more about yurei?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I was genuinely flip flopping over whether or not Kita would make his appearance like I promised last chapter he would. This chapter was actually supposed to have two more sections, one for Atsumu and the other for Osamu, but this chapter ended up being more than long enough without those sections. So they'll have to be moved to the next chapter, which I hope will be out soon enough! I don't have any problems with super long chapters, I just not the biggest fan of the chapters of my own stories having wildly different lengths. Sometimes it can't be helped but I'm trying to keep things at a somewhat equal length. Anyways, research notes!!!
> 
> Not a lot to talk about this time. First off, I tried looking up stuff for when Brazil's 2019-2020 volleyball season was and got a whole lotta nothing so let's just say it was in swing in October. The other thing is regarding the few thoughts Osamu has on cremation. As several of you may know, part of the typical Japanese funeral is cremation, with family watching. Family members then use chopsticks to pick out the small remaining bones. Families may keep the urn of their loved one in their home for differing lengths of time, maybe permanently, before doing something else with it. Burial at the family grave area is one of those things. 
> 
> But the big thing this chapter brought up was, of course, the supernatural element to this fic: yurei. Just to be clear, I'm gonna wait to reveal the research regarding yurei for another chapter. I think it'll work much better in that chapter. I also wanna be clear while I am mainly following what is typically written about what yurei are like and capable of, I am playing around a few things, mainly for the sake of the story. Nothing's stopping any of you from researching yurei yourselves I guess but I will explain the idea in my notes more when I get to the appropriate chapter (almost definitely next chapter). Fun fact: I was originally gonna be vague and just use ghost terms but I did a bunch of research into Japanese specific spirit stories and eventually came across yurei, which fit very well with what I wanted. So yay!
> 
> Anyways, like I said before I think I have an idea how long this story will be. For the record, I know how this story will go from start to finish, I've written all my notes before I started chapter 1. The issues I'm having are the minor one of me wanting the chapter to be of somewhat similar length and the more major problem that is figuring out what parts of the story to put in which chapters. Because I don't want chapters to feel like they're going too slow but I also don't wanna feel like I'm rushing the story. For example the original version of this chapter TOTALLY came across as me rushing the story so I had to start over from scratch. In hindsight this all makes my original claim that this story might be three parts long pretty funny, huh? Like how were you planning on finishing everything in three chapters, past Willow???
> 
> Also, I'm sorry Kita!!! I'm not sure I wrote you as awesome as you are in canon but I tried real hard, promise!!! Also, I think more than anything the actual hardest part of this fic is whenever I have to write the accent because I'm always worried if I'm overdoing it or using it too little. I'm just trusting my gut on this.
> 
> Anyways, I hope I will be back with the next chapter soon! Please read and review!


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